She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.
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.
in a post. I want to be remembered
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.
Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
no longer writing in the third person
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49
I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
the textwall is as much for me as it is for you