Design must breathe.

In an age where concrete suffocates soil and circuitry drowns silence, I ask—what if buildings could breathe? What if walls didn’t divide, but embraced? What if architecture remembered how to feel? This is a rebellion against the sterile. Against spaces that numb instead of nourish. I seek the soft threshold— where built form dissolves into forest, where light doesn’t flood but drips, like morning dew through leaves, where structure listens, like bark holds memory.