Fall down

Now how can I say no matter the wreckage? Just a night after I wrote here, after I officially acknowledged I had clung my hope to Gothenburg, to him, I should gaze at the fall down of all woven dreams, all those detailed plans, and intricate imaginations about a so called simple journey.
No it was not. It definitely was not that simple. For me it's always the same story. The story of meaningfulness of simple things. So nothing's simple in my life, no travel is a "simple travel".
When will I learn building? I'm addicted to the temples I have built, incapable of building new spaces.
Sometimes I pity how I was not brave enough. What on earth possessed me to give in to such experience of love?