Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

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.

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

Style

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

whats your name?

yeah

i did until you asked which kind of gave it away

its good short few pages

thank you

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

have you read

like first name

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

god being the centre magnet

what do you think my name is

plato

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

Better Lift

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.

i was tempted to lie about my name