Iliad understands.

He counts the hours but it's all a haze: reality has been given a fuzzy new filter to be seen through. Its been... thirty-two, no, thirty six, yes, its been thirty-six hours. He thinks of Iliad. He dreams of Iliad. Iliad, like any goal, desire or unattainable fantasy understands. At least he hopes. He hopes Iliad understands.

Lengthen On

I'd watch the trees

I'd watch the trees. The trees'd watch me. It was mutual observation. A tree is a great surveyor. So still. All it does is watch. The air. The soil. The water. It watches without looking. I wasn't scared of the trees miraculously springing 'to life', uprooting themselves and chasing me with outstretched branchy hands. No. No I was more scared of what they could do without me even noticing. What they could do while they were deathly still. Silently releasing leaves in Autumn. Growing quietly. Reaching out underground in every direction. The tree had always had the upper hand.

i cant come back

hello
i cant come back
i've gone too far you know?
i think
I think i'm lesser actually
I mean, maybe
happier, but lesser
less functional?
maybe
but you
you are entirely different
and thats great
say: "i need to be reminded"
and I will

here's an idea

it is different from before, unsettled, steeped in solid flighty graspings at, ow, at, ow- stop that, steeped in solid flighty graspings at my knowledge, no, not not knowledge, at magic, disappear, disappear little rabbit, you're not a bunny, no solid flighty graspings for you, no, don't pout, oh-no dont cry, okay-okay-okay here's an idea: just one! you can have one flighty grasp, thats it!

but he's not made of french fries either

It’s not easy to write him. He’s not a bad guy but he’s not made of French-fries either. Its not malicious, however, it is all choreographed dancing and lightly dusted icing sugar. Salad days and cum rags. He’s a boyfriend that makes you cringe when he talks too loudly on his mobile phone. He’s a jealous bitch that asks where you’ve been while you’re at the supermarket. He’s a stranger that touches himself on the train while he looks at you from across the carriage. He’s the girl who stays to be hit, drinks too much and ends up crying pathetically all night. He’s not difficult. No Sir. That’s the last thing he would want to be, Sir.