My Special Place
Everyone has a special place, right? Somewhere they go to
when they aren't happy to make themselves feel better.
Sometimes it's a real place, a bedroom or a treehouse, or
whatever. Sometimes it's just in their head. Mine has
always been in my head. All I usually need is my teddy
bear Marky, and a quiet place, like my bedroom. Then I can
go wherever I want. But lately that hasn't been working.
I can't find a really good place to go anymore. Nothing
makes me really happy. There used to be a little girl that
I could talk to. Her name was Zoe, and she was about 8
years old, with long brown hair and a long white dress.
She would just float around and be very happy and
innocent. It made me content to know she was there, like a
little angel for me or something. But she disappeared a
couple of years ago, when I moved out on my own, and I
don't know where she went. She always helped me out, and
took me to that special place where everything was ok. I
think it was in a cave on a beach, but sometimes it
changed. I can't find it without her, and no matter what I
do, the place is gone. Hopefully I find it soon, and find
Zoe there waiting to play again.