nothing comes home. home is an empty memory. nothing stays the same. with every secondhand sweep, everything changes forever. its so hard to face forward sometimes. to not look over your shoulder. everything fails eventually. empires. nervous systems. hard drives. all systems of belief are build upon faith. and faith is made of hope and hope is made of desire. desire is what you want, not what is real. and yet, when the breeze gently moves the curtains on a soft summer night, we stand there and let the wind caress us. we breath in deep, the soft night air. air that is filled with radiowaves and hydrocarbons and radiation and the molecules of decaying organic matter and we smile. happy. happy. happy.