The place of my imagination. It’s far far away, but yet it is where I live, always with me, in my soul and heart. It is a small deserted place, away from big metropolitans and noises. All alone. It’s a wooden house with its own gardens. From my window I can see the gardens, than comes the forest and far behind are the mountains. It’s a place full of mystery and beauty. I wake up early every day here, and greet the dawn. I hear the birds singing, the ravens crowing. I can smell the fresh air of the world. I don’t care what scientists say about the air having no smell, it does for me. It can smell like new beginnings, old memories, freedom, mystery. And it smells like proper nature. I have lots of trees, plants and flowers in my gardens. And I can feel every second one of them. I can feel them rejoice, getting energy from the sun, wind or rain. I bloom and grow with them. I feel myself a part of something really great and supernal. I get connected with the forest and what’s more important with myself. I acknowledge here that I’m not only a physical body, I’m a spirit, just like everything else surrounding me. And I feel like Totoro would live here, somewhere deep in the woods, and I can hear him sometimes. And there’s also an abandoned chapel and a gazebo next to it, where I can go and sit for hours, listen to forest, draw or read.
It’s often stormy here. And I overcome my fear of lightning and watch the sky go mad, beautifully and magnificently mad, showing its true powers. And I smell the crisp air after the rain and it’s just perfection for me.
Not a single soul is here next to me, it’s only me, my thoughts or feelings and the world. But I don’t feel lonely or incomplete. I feel incredible . Because here is everything I love and enjoy, or get energy from. I don’t need others to feel complete or happy, I’m already like that on my own, and that’s what true happiness is. Not depending on anyone, being with yourself and loving every second spending with yourself.
I literally cannot find the right words to describe this place. When I think about it, I imagine every single detail of this place, but I can’t write them. Because it’s my secret home, a place only for myself. A place to feel happy and free, or even a little lonely and sad every now and then. It’s the place I get inspired by nothing but the nature and life itself. Maybe it’s stupid or nothing special for lots and lots of people, but for me it’s my paradise. And I always carry my paradise with myself. I see it everywhere, in the small pieces of nature left in the city, from my window and in my head. And everything is perfect here.