And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.
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"Put a blanket."
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
I am below everything.
Today I felt like starting
I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.