Wednesday, September 22

there is a place i go out in the baseball fields.
i sit in front of a small building on old wooden bleachers.
their paint is faded, their wood is wearing and i love them.
i sit there when i skip class, catch up on chemistry or read.
birds chirp, sprinklers mist and i sip my frappuccino.
the building shields me from the blinding sun.
i like it out there. i get some quiet.
i like having a place where i can tell the world to go to hell and be alone for a few moments.
a place away from everywhere and everyone that you can get some fresh air.
i go there when i get tired of the world. tired of the chaos, tension.
it heals me.
here i can be angry. i can be sad. i can be quiet. i can be happy.
i can scream here if i'd like. i can cry and stomp my feet and yell.
i can be silent, also. i can think. i can laugh and smile for no reason at all.

some days when i am feeling especially bold i kick off my shoes and lay on home plate.
schoolbooks scattered around me, toes between the grass and the hot hot rays beating down on my skin.
my troubles slip away here.
this is where i am most relaxed. my best thoughts are born. my most difficult quiestions are answered and my most heartweighing memories are released.
i let go here. i come first here.
on rainy days or windy days i sit in the dugout and read or listen to the  falling raindrops.
its as if this place has been waiting for me to find it and taken all necessary precautions.

i shared my secret with a friend.  i bring her there when she feels especially troubled.
it helps.
i wonder if those creaking old boards have some sort of healing powers.
or maybe simply having some place to call your own or run away to holds the power.
then again, maybe i am healing myself.

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