Essay: My Special Place

It is a murky darkness set in a twinkling abyss of fulfillment, the street, marked in faded yellow lamp lights in front of my refuge. A starry magic drifts in the gloomily lit room with smoke flowing romantically low as the atmosphere takes to a scene from the 60’s. A certain kind of blues emanates from an old piano being caressed by an elegant black man in a white tuxedo. Shaking the cold from a snowy coat brings to light the chiming of wet glass at the bar and smiling faces sharing a cigar. A friendly hand to greet: warmer to the touch than the whole day’s sun… This red tapestry on the floor seems infinitely kind to the intricate sentiments it shares with me, whilst dreamingly soft to the foot even through shoe. It is the place where the soot of the city fades away to the day. ’Fore stealing your arid soul’s breath away, these divine hands reach from the warmest Corners of the room to lift chained weights from hardened shoulders. And this sweet mirth! Oh, it harbors unseen weavers carefully unwinding minds carelessly tossed into the world… What a place to consider the shine of that sole red apple you saw in a park earlier the same day whilst cars were hooting? Swaying in a peaceful breeze, you envied even the mortality of its luscious nature, as it’s time spent in leaf like serenity would be the envy of the world for no one to see, for there was no time, if it was not for this place. What a place for a chance to give to the melodious birds of sweetest song? I felt them tugging at my heart as the robot flashed red. By closing my eyes they could have taken me back to memory lane filled with creamy white vanilla flowers and the smell of freshly baked apple pie dangling in the air with a mother’s call… A lane I am jealous of, although it is ironically my own, but without space between these cars for it, if it was not for this place. It is in this place that I sit and stare at paintings with unknown faces and see the air breathing benignly calm whilst the sun ebbs as it steps down the gentle stairway from heaven, into an orange metropolitan of clouds. The romantic jazz resonates silently between my friends and quietly fades to a ferry’s horn blowing rhythmically slow in the distance, on a glassy red river, reflecting the dying sun. It is in this place I suddenly find myself asking where I am whilst watching the world’s beauty, feeling its touch in a warm breeze blowing calmly through my hair. Close to one AM, couples shuffle off to their abodes and the leather couches going vacant find me mind-strolling through the latest business. Thinking about the trivial things reminds me of the moment before I rush over: The garden filling with the smell of lavender as it becomes night time; The stars having their waking moment by sailing across the nether ocean that I only have a chance to look at and then an apricot’s enigmatic sweetness spirals into the oblivion of my misplaced precedence. In this place I have overlooked: My friends’ hearts in joyful laughter; Even a flirting girl with eyes so wide and filled with dreams more colorful than my busy days’ beautiful memories… By Being alone in my special place at this time, I sit and wonder at the contemplative smell these muffins have come to own. At least they are still left for me to remember as I chew on one whilst gazing at the steam floating on top of the hot coffee waiting in front of me. By looking away from the enthralling steam, I have realized that amongst many features, I’ll rate my friends together with the music, the pleasant smells and the familiar touch of things, at a very high position. They mean so much to me, but do not compete with the most valued thing I’ve come to realize. It is in fact in this very special place of mine that I’ve come to realize that my true special place is, although very cleverly disguised in the time lost to all romantic souls, indeed, this world…

CuldeSac

What are words without understanding and what is understanding without sense?

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