My place of happiness can not be found on a map, for it does not have a set location. It does not change with seasons or time of day, but remains constant. It is not a place you can travel, for it is in the arms of another. Embraced in the welcoming warmth of recognition. A flood of reassurance ripples through my veins. I am noticed, acknowledged, protected. The world surrounding fades away, and walls of comfort loom over me.

Coastal tides have been drifting so far inland, they shanghai my dreams and hold them ransom. It's funny that I'm landlocked because my soul, like my skin, shrivels without ocean air. One whiff of airborn saltiness and I feel like a fish who's been freed from a hook, thankfully filling it's gills with life sustaining water. No matter how rough life gets, if I can just get to the ocean, I will find peace. It's vastness shows me how small my problems really are. The starkness makes me want to weep, but not the weeping of self pity. Rather, the healing release of someone who has borne too much for too long and there, in that solitude, is finally letting go, becoming free. To fall asleep on a boat, rocked in the arms of the waves, lulled like a carefree child under the watchful eye of the moon is my perfect bliss. Call it a pipe dream, but I often daydream of selling everything and living on a boat. Simplifying, mooring, and working in-port from whichever city I choose to get intimate with. Before becoming fickle and finding my next interest, of course. But, ahhhhh, a girl can dream.

It is 30 minutes away,

Nobody knows where it is.

It is my love's house.

I never tell when I'm going, or exactly where I'm going.

It's peaceful, a room at the top of the staircase on the right.

It holds good music, art on the walls, carpet floors, liquor bottles underneath a small coffee table, and a small couch.

Yes, it's his room.

His room is my happy place.