This little heaven of mine

I loved the way the humid, almost lukewarm wind would brush past my face, play with my hair like grass in the wind.
I loved the way the beach chair would creak silently every time I reclined and sighed.
The cold beer in my hand, slowly refreshing my senses. Yet at the same time taking me into a state of trance in tiny minuscule steps.
The sun, threatening to scorch my feet on the rough swamp green surface of that wonderful rooftop, or the moon, peeking through the thin mist that always seemed to dance around it in that part of the world.
The smell of moisture in the air, food from the stalls nearby, sounds of the beach below.
I really can't point out what that place makes me feel.
It's a feeling of floating just above the ground, feeling weightless yet almost having all the power in the world.
Being able to look over the sides and peer twenty floors down.
Observing the busy atmosphere of the food stalls, night markets and congested two lane intersections.
Yet on the other side, the calm dark waters of the sea.
The ever gentle moon casting it's wisps of light to the tips of each small wave.

To have found that place was a stroke of luck.
I don't regret a millisecond of it.
It's always a chore to peel myself from the red blue and yellow beach chair riddled with rust and age, to leave that heaven, trapped in such a small space.
There are no walls, no ceiling, nothing but a couple of vents and two taller extensions cradling gigantic cubes of water storage containers.
I loved it there, sitting, staring, drinking, smoking.
No judgments were made there,
no decisions or conclusions.
Just thoughts of serenity and my love for such boundless seclusion.
It's my long lost hiding place.
It'll never leave, and I'll never forget about it.
It's a place in the world where my fears and mistakes cannot follow.
Where my past follows each silent barefooted step of mine like a shadow, speaking not a word, restricted from casting it's doubts by this calm serenity.
This little heaven of mine.

TJ