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.

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.

It Will Get Lighter

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

hiding from the rain

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

this will be about a slug

and the fake qualifier

The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.

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

part of an old note. It will get lighter.

...

...

I Write Goodbye Letter

confused - is it the tide or its absense? I still like where I was going with it. anyway, real reader know this site is the note.

Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.