She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
really i want the internet
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
we want to live the knowledge too live the content