But I couldn’t think of anywhere I would’ve rather been to watch it all burn away.

Sometimes I feel like entire cities were built in my head on foundations of false hope; and were torn down to reveal the stunning absence that lay beneath them.
When this happens, I don’t know what to do with myself. I lace my fingers together; bite my lip; look around, and pretend that I’m not slowly rotting on the inside.
As depressing as that sounds though, it feels a bit hopeful to me.
With every metropolis that is fractured beyond repair, there is the hope for renovation.
Each thing that decays, turns to earth, and can be used to seed new life.
Knowing that I don’t feel particularly hopeful right now, but am still able to find the possibility of it’s existence lets me know that I am still alive.
For what is life without the possibility of building castles in the air?