Shhh, let me share with you a secret.

At times, I like to hide away.  You see, I have my own personal timeshare in the back of my mind.  One in which I have the luxury of running away to at a moment's notice.  There's no other tenant, save for old dreams and cobwebs and a comfy, rustic chair perfect for reading and thinking.  In fact, I own more of it than I might like to admit.

It's accessibility is a comfort, though perhaps also a curse.  With ease I slip from public view, into a world far away.  Behind watchful eyes and ears, I sit secluded with my thoughts.  My artist's table here is full of many ideas, while my typewriter is curiously perched next to a trash bin full of copy.  But most of all, here the inner turnings of my brain are strung out like laundry needing to dry.

I've made trips while at work, or simply while at home.  At parks, and plays, and some beach days, I have stepped aside to my shaded abode.  Sometimes boredom encourages me to move, and sometimes emotions will urge me to leave.  Unexpectedly-unmet expectations can also find me rapping on my own door, where I retire my presence for a while.

At times, it is a benefit for me to have this alcove of my own.  Here I spread my creativity like seeds and water them, waiting to see how they grow.  Their roots may become entwined and breed new ideas, budding in different seasons.  On more despairing occasions, I bottle emotions like forbidden wines never to be opened or sampled.  Vintages most terrible and abused, though something seems to unseal them from time to time.  They always have a way of unsettling her.

A product of younger years, my hideaway is never far but there are days I wish it were.  And then there are days where I go to my secret place.