and the fake qualifier

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.

no longer writing in the third person

Style

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

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

"Put a blanket."

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos


but really the thing should be autonomous