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.
Style
IWGD
confused - is it the tide or its absense? I still like where I was going with
it. anyway, real reader know this site is the note.
and so on. not wanting the rhyming / clanging
Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a
breakdown of common interpretations:
the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and
impulsively.
how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the
excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems
annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder
where it goes in the day.
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the
morning, when I'm not quite right.
I Write Goodbye Letter
Like the tide, it comes
in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide
it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks
for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider
this the founding document of iw.gl
