Off somewhere quiet, with no cars or people. No kids screaming or judging, not even a peaceful place, no, so much more than that. A place that can't be reached by desire alone, taking much more than will power to see. I can't get there by walking, biking, or riding in the  "little pollutants, " I must go through a secret passage. My favorite place is more than peace, and more than quiet.

A land that is touched by more than just my hands. A place where people cannot see me, cannot hear me, cannot tease me. There is no doubt that no one can reach me in my special, favorite place. Where I am the rain that always falls, splattering across the endless lake, No houses clutter and drown the air, which is clearer than any glass man could make. There are no domestic animals; they all run free not having their environments and habits tampered with in just a futile attempt to control life. I cannot smell any forests burning, any factories munching down on their third helping of the ozone. The only sound is the rain in my heart, and the thunder in my soul.

A thousand years or more you may search, but no one will ever find my favorite place. Why? Because my favorite, special, magical world is inside my mind, the perfect paradise. You cannot find me. I'm far down inside. Shake me or slap me no matter what you do, I'm in my special place, the one thing that can't be taken from me. Trees can fall, lakes will dry up, but my place will always remain.

The willows always sway, but the leaves never fall. The animals, plants, and all objects considered inanimate that live more on the invisible inside, only die of natural reasons, and aren't eaten or experimented on by creatures that shan't exist. The sun never shines, which is just how I like it, I can make my special favorite place anything I want it to be. There is no road kill, there are no roads. Why should there be, it is me.

My perfect world may not sound appealing to other people. It's not supposed to, because if it did, everyone would want it. Many can talk of beachside views, of cabins on lakes, of cities packed. While I can grin and say myself,  "Isn't it wonderful to have my own special perfect place. "