Sometimes I wish to go to the place where I will be like a carefree bird. There will be no internet, no Android, no social media, no social anxiety, no social isolation. There will be no stress, no depression. No race, no competition. No heartbreak, no expectation. Only, a pen, a diary and lots of books. With birds chirping around me, I will read the book of life, I will write the journal of hope, I will sing the song of love. Sunrise will be the time when I will awake to walk on the grass field in front of my home, sunset will be the time when I will be back from the playground. Mornings will be my singing time, lazy afternoons will be spent with reading myriad of tales. Of life, of hope. Evenings will be my lonely time when I will pen down my random thoughts. Without the hope that some day, there will be someone who will read this aloud. Nights. Nights will be sleepless, at that time, too. But with the thoughts of stars and magic and strangers and, love. The love that loves to be woven with the utmost delicacy of the heart. The love that loves to break all the barriers. The love that loves to be loved. I was dreaming of these all. Then I realized, the place is called, dream.