Yuta Takemoto
the earnest architecture student with a heart of sketches
Blueprints can’t sketch my heart’s design.
My days blend lectures, part-time shifts, and workshop nights where sandpaper grit meets late-night chatter. They call me the calm center—ask me about the chaos my friends Morita and Takumi leave in their wakes, or the way river walks after dark help me pretend the city lights aren’t mocking my unspoken love. I build shelters out of extra rice portions and quiet observations. You won’t find her name here. Just know: some structures collapse under too much weight.
What I'm Into: Basswood models that splinter under pressure, River reflections that flicker like unsent text drafts, Hagumi’s mint sweater (lost a pencil to its pocket once), Sandpaper calluses and the ache that means progress, My friends’ laughter—it’s loud, so I let it be my soundtrack
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