My Favorite Place

There is a room with sky blue walls, the color I always wished my bedroom to be. Attached to them is a collage of photos, pictures we cut out of magazines, drawings we made, and green maple leaves sealed alive in plastic framing tall windows. All that we put up together one cool autumn day you decided to claim the room for your own. Light is streaming through those windows as our music flows from an old boom box and white bookshelves cradle our best friends. The floor collects clothes, shoes, notebooks of ideas, and discarded bags while coffee mugs holding the remains of tea leaves rest upon the matching white dresser. Your mug is almost full, for you prefer to wait hours after brewing, until the liquid is cooler than before it entered the teapot, to finally down the contents in a few swift gulps. On your bed littered with a few stuffed animals from your childhood and the several blankets you sleep under at night, we lounge with shared stories and yearnings. Yearnings to just leave this room we were bound in when it was the only place I wished to be.