The Cabin in My Dreams.

There's a place I go almost every night. It's a place I've only seen in my dreams but I'm convinced it's real. Hell I'm convinced it's beyond real. I just don't think I would like the path I would have to take in order to get there. Much like other dreams there is no true beginning, but I always start in the same place. I'm outside a jungle, my hands are covered in blood. My clothes are torn and ruined. In front of me is a stone path over grown with vines and the air always smells of mangos. I walk down this path and there it is. Large windows cover the outside, and foliage hides the wood. I press my hand onto the door and it creeks open like old wooden doors do. Inside there is no artificial light, and it smells like jungle rain and salt water. On a platform is a kingsize bed with white silk sheets that glisten in the sunlight. Across from that is a kitchen with an old beach wood table and no food insight. A gentle breeze rolls across the ocean and the old cabin moans. Then I walk past the kitchen and out a pair of sliding glass doors where a dock waits. Suddenly it's sunset. I take my seat in the old blue rocking chair and listen to the row boat ride the waves as it clanks against the dock. Then I close my eyes and for a moment everything is at peace. That is where I long to be.