Dear Architecture,

I am sorry, so truly sorry. 

I regret what I have done to you. I had begun by attempting, perhaps naively, to change the world through you. Denying how limited my abilities were, and perhaps still is, you became an outlet for my insatiable and self-righteous desires to make myself matter to the world. After endless nights and countless mornings, I looked up and realized that you had become a monster.

I lost you.

I searched blindly everywhere, only to discover that you had been there all along, merely unrecognizable. But you never called. You could curse me, demand that I fix the situation; you have all the right to do so. But you simply stand there as a manifestation What do you want from me? I remain as the ever-powerful visionary and there might still be time to fix yourself first.

You must be so lonely.

The public has failed to apprehend your monstrosity. Once a provider of visions for a better future, your impact has been sacrificed to their indifference. The people ignore you, shun you like a tax-sucking fiend, and blame all of their problems on you as well. But I never abandoned you. You are the brain child, my magnum opus. I wanted you to be invincible. Your polished skin would not age. The structure of your torso attempted to withstand the toughest of storms and uphold the heaviest of burdens. Your arms were fabricated for tasks that required utmost precision. Your ventilating lungs could purify the most toxic air. The bulky master plan of your inner organs was organized with sheer efficiency to satisfy hungry developers. Your fluid management system would appease some leadership committee. Your intellectual mind made sure there was an endless supply of architects. You were the ultimate container of ideas that was destined to succeed.

Please be angry at me. 

No one entity should be expected to fulfill so many expectations. You were never meant to be a solution. Understand, however, that you were meant to inspire collaboration, to help those in need, to protect us. The almighty purpose I had in mind no longer holds within that misshapen of body parts. People must now accept you as you are, more aware of your vast capabilities. But blinded by your potential novelty, I have lost much of those intentions in the compromises I have made. You were revered as a thing and not as the entity of my intentions. Increasingly, you became dependent on none and related to none. The path of your departure was free, but there was none to lament your annihilation. 

Tell me, architecture. How can I restore your integrity? I await your anger.

Sincerely yours,

The Architect.