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.

currently

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49

no longer writing in the third person

Style

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

FOUNDING DOCUMENT

Better Lift

it is hopeful

13, H, grate

in a post. I want to be remembered

i really havent

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

...

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Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.

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

its good

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Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life