Maybe, Jack, I'm doing this because I'm English?

Thank you, Jack

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.

Worse Lift

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

It Will Get Lighter

the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."