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.

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

13, H, grate

in a post. I want to be remembered

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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.

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

Worse Lift

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.

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.

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

currently

Better Lift

We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes.

We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river.

yes

I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank.

Style

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them