He builds glass castles in the sky - translucent, transparent wonders, reflecting themselves on themselves and through each other, sewn together with whispers of clouds. They shimmer, forming glass rainbows in the sky, wavering in the light, as if they might vanish from a whisper. All who witness stare open-mouthed, too stunned to even applaud. The architect, eyes shining as bright as his wonders, allows himself a small smile. He awakens one night, and his eyes seem to open for the very first time. He blinks as his hands go from muscular to withered and trembling in a mere moment. His vision is dim, yet things are now dreadfully clear, and he wonders how the styrofoam mountains of Chinese food containers lit only by a sickly yellow bulb got there. Everything here feels empty, old, and alone. He does not know where the door is. In desperation, he turns his eyes upward, but the heavens are as empty as they always were, and the stars look back at him reproachfully, reflections of a life spent in the sky.