I need a world of no walls, literally, so that I can think and listen to the thoughts bounce off the corners and the aged rafters and travel back to me in a complete loop of physical being. As a fellow human being I understand that we are bound to economics, to practicality, and in fact I probably live in this mode more than many of you do, because security is the prime objective. This space need not be perfect (no such thing, no such place, no such being) but if it’s good enough, close enough, I will own it. I will fix what needs fixing, take hammer to nail, brush broadly with a color not too bright but good enough to appeal to me. If the ceiling is high I will sing to it, and if the light is enough I will read and write by it, and if the view is tender and beautiful enough I will paint it. If there is a balcony I will take my blanket and sleep beneath the cloudy morning, and if there is rain I will sit against a wall by an open window and listen to its melody trickle in my mind. Every moment will spark a story. Every hidden voice, a character. Every made-up life, the sense that the world is good enough, close enough, to fulfill desires far simpler than I care to accept. That is all.