where i am intangibly fulfilled i am starving artist. and where i eat well, my soul is an empty rock. this transient period is eating me up. i do not want to be here. i don’t/
i have become accustomed to the fact that nobody in london replies immediately to text msgs immediately.
everybody here is in their own world, it seems.
including me, perhaps.
i am fully aware that this space has been fairly abandoned. intended or not.
the housemate shared that she just served a table with one of them being zaha hadid.
the only thought that popped in mind is a question that i would shoot to her after her meal.
dear zaha hadid,
do you still dream?
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