barren land

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

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.

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.

        13       |
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            H   |
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really i want the internet

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.

in a post. I want to be remembered

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

idk

Rain, starting

or never left

i understand

its good

i want to do that too

13, H, grate

as in

amazing hopefully this was all legible and frankly i might be going very off board but you seemed interesting

plato

i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate

its performative

whats your name?