twelve ► after all

[gentleidealist]

[dictated]

[The journal picks up the ambient noises of the evening fauna-- soft crickets, a chill breeze, babbling carried by the wind and dying away. Someone's /roof after all that drama.]

Three hundred and four... three hundred and five...

[A sigh.]

Nope, not sleepy yet.

[ooc: open over the journals or in person B) Tags will come later tonight. Hopefully.]

Comments

[gentleidealist]

[a little shyly] Stars, actually.