And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
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 wonder if the birds knew I was watching?
Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after
, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.no longer writing in the third person
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.
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.