My heart, a mansion made of straw: Complex and beautiful but lit ablaze by a single spark. Intricate and intimate but bound to collapse. Spacious and accommodating but thin-walled, colder in the nights. Furnished and ready for use but over-staged, exaggerated potential.
Do me a favor: tear down the walls burn it all, scatter ashes that I may be an empty lot to be renovated by an Architect.
I feel I fall in love too easily. Mind you, I'm picky beyond belief, but I think I'm just a hopeless romantic.