My special place

This room knew me better than any parent, friend or relative. It had seen me in the extremes of my emotions from melancholic or at the precipice of depression to the epitome of insanity and joy, and every nuance of feeling and emotion in between. The wood walls, made smooth by the hands of time, heard every whisper of sorrow and exuberant whoop that told a story of ups and downs in my life, of the highest hills and the deepest, dreariest valleys; of a timeless tale, marked for future generations, to encourage their conquests and convey stories of wisdom founded by my trial and error. The smell of warm, soft musk emanated ubiquitously from the very soul of the room, wrapping its occupants in a warm clinging cloak of security and serenity. The dusty window on the far side of the secret room provided a very muted sunshine, with soft, glittering light making the room glow with a magical aura. A place away from the fake, plastic world; the concrete jungle that traps you like prisoners in its shallow, superficial, artificial pursuits. This room was mine alone, and I shared it with no one. It was my secret place behind the small, narrow, camouflaged door behind the double doors of my closet.