things change when i wake up

architecture is serene. quiet lines, stoic creations. something in the way his thumbs against white, blank, white. he asks me about the way i live. i ask him if it is possible to build a Parthenon atop a jagged cliff, the soil running before a foundation can ever be set.

i set my sight on a faraway dream that i dreamt of since i was a girl. it all came up to right what i have now, partially gone, partially still vaguely visible, but there is something - even the slightest hint of it exists, i feel that i am not as dead as i felt yet. and they say, if you can dream it, you can do it - right? i really hope so. i hope a lot, ya, i know. it has come to a point where i hope for everything more than engaging an action to pursue that direction that i wanted to be heading to.

things change when i wake up. i hope you are one thing that doesnt change. i hope. i hope so hard.