It’s always winter. The cold snow envelops me and yet it’s not cold. The sun is never too bright, the wind is never too bitter. I can lay down in the snow and fall back into the downy, peaceful, worry free bed and stare up at the night sky while it’s still daylight out. All the stars are visible, the moon smiles. Snow makes up my pillow, soft as feathers. It wraps me up in a warm blanket while the world outside sleeps. When I sleep, day dims to a pleasant, barely visible glow. All the worry and fear in my world is gone. There are no responsibilities, no annoyances, it’s just me and my mind, meditating, happily. No one else is there. But its okay because I know that everyone I care about is alright. I can go back to them whenever I please, yet can retreat back into this place at the same leisure. I roll down on the ground breathing in the fresh, crisp air. I’m not self conscious. I’m not acting. I’m just me. It’s perfect. I’m perfect. Everything is perfect. Just for that time being, I’m at peace. Content to the last breath of the universe. It’s like being dead except your very much alive. The voices in your head quiet down, such as when you write. The trance you stay in is the most blissful thing in the world. Everything should be perfect. And it is. At that moment. But alas, reality must always come back into my perfect little world and ruin the presence of my bliss. Reality is my enemy. It takes away the content and brings me back into the world of growing up, responsibilities, people, and life. I suppose it sounds terribly selfish of me but I just want everyone to think like I do sometimes. There would be no debates, arguments, fighting. Just agreement. My world is a small and fake one. But I know that I can retreat there as I please. And if nothing else, that gives me comfort. It’s just the depth of how far into my world I can get into there. I mean eventually life will come flowing in. And it all ends.