Elbasani, Logan, Severin Architects. Architectural Record, December 1972.

Somber as the day is, I still have a feeling of elasticity within me. To take risks so bold it changes the way you perceive things is truly courageous. And to think a person as collapsable as me is now understanding the truth. I have been a crooked house for so long, with misty windows and self-conscious walls that groan and hold me in with any attempt to rub those windows clean. Let me see outside, let me view the world from a different perspective. Because how are you meant to comprehend and make a judgment about a world you’ve only seen from one, blurred and undulated point. I had a frame around my opinions and a crawling hum of rain that filtered through my thoughts. My soul became damp and was rotting with every passing year. A fathomless desire to see something outside of this grid. Until now. This moment here; fingers tracing my steaming cup of tea, windows heavy with condensation, I realise, I am not fragile. I am here, loading the damp air into my lungs, sensing the water crumble on the ceiling above and I am sturdy. What I was longing for was hiding behind my obsession with sight. My eyelids close and my arm hairs prick as a soft breeze runs across the room. A sweaters tender touch travels through my bones to a rhythmic movement following everything I do. And inside, I radiate. A warmth so charged I am able to sustain myself, by myself. The glass may be fogged but my eyes do not need clarity to understand that the world is not meant to be seen, it is meant to be felt.

I would of laughed if it was a tumblr text post