The architect always planned for this one contingency, in any design he ever created. He could always imagine it: a boy or a girl, perhaps a teen, running away from as much of the world as they could, and needing just someplace, someplace where they could go and cry — somewhere alone, and sheltered from everything else. He would incorporate these secret spaces, and no one ever questioned them because it always worked with the design of everything else, a sort of side effect of the main construction. But if you made one turn, then another, and maybe a third, and you just kept going until you couldn't see any more windows pointing out from the building, you would find these places, where there was no one but you to see you — small and inconspicuous sanctuaries.
The architect would never go into these places. He was always afraid that if he ever went, he would find that boy or girl running away, because these are they way things happen in this life — expect the unexpected, as it were. He had enough faith in the lines he drew, that the secret places would stay secret. His thanks was always that no one ever noticed them in the architecture, for he was a man of high craft, and delicate detail. Perhaps you know what I am talking about? Have you ever run away, and turned corners without thinking, to find yourself all alone in a perfect place to cry? Maybe you know what I am talking about, and the architect you now know did these things on purpose — give him silent thanks.
me?!