You walk across the courtyard amazed by the pristine clean-cutness of the new buildings, at once old and new, at once real and ethereal, and you know that you’d absolutely love to live there.

You also know there’s no chance of that.

It feels as if you’re alone on the grounds, without a person in sight, without a sound to mar the heavy quiet, without a breeze to stir the comforting stillness of the evening.

But as you walk away from one flight of fancy past another who lives in those very buildings, how can you say you’re alone at all when your mind knows otherwise?

It would be nice if you were oblivious enough to really imagine it.

[and the idle thought, why do people always address hypothetical situations to "you", not wanting to sully their own selves with speculation?]