I knew this mental exercise was coming. It is always this away when I am with him. But I don’t complain because these conversations always takes me to places I never imagined I would ever be. So he repeated the question “what is your favourite place”.

“It would be a lie to say I have a favourite place. Perhaps I do, but it a a puzzle pieces of all the other places I can feel my soul alive.”

“This place smells welcoming like Sunday breakfast and soulful like Friday dinner. It has been stacked with endless staircase of books like unlimited source of fermented knowledge and is as warm as my lonely space. It has the look if flowery spring, feel like 9pm midsummer and smell like sandalwood, lavender and vanilla. When I am here my soul always feel as if it’s enveloped by a warm bath and massaged with baptised hands. I fall into an addiction of peace. In here the seductive allure of rain will lurk in the air every morning and the sun will set at 12pm. It’s casting a silhouette of orange, red and yellow like there is a tropical feast in the highest heaven, where the devil smells like purification and angels celebrate. The sky is closer to the ground so my touch at the cotton candy clouds triggers a rain clear as it can be to the clearest honey. And when it touches the ground , it coats everything with sweetness. That is why I am always hurrying to be at my favourite place.”

“Does this places exist” he ask?

“Yes. It exist in the endless loop of lightness in my head and I love to be there while I rest in my warm bed. In the lonely company of my bedroom, surrounded by old books and piles of clothes sprayed on the week old hovered carpet. What is your favourite place like”?