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It's a place where I'm always welcome. The doors are never closed and it's comforting just to have a place like that, despite its location. It's a room where you're greeted with open arms. It's only a small room; there isn't really a lot to it apart from a few damaged chairs. But the personalities that it contains, the people you can relate to, everything about this whole room is amazing. It's special. Other people, just like you, sat around talking, making music, some crying. These people are my people.
There's usually a man who sits by the window- just staring down onto the busy streets below us. He's a scruffy man. All I have ever seen him wear is a long brown duffel coat with a pair of dusty brown leather shoes, hair a mess, with a hat placed on top to finish. He reminds me of something from an old movie. The man isn't an enigma because everything else is the room is quite jolly, colourful and happy in contrast to his aged sepia toned look. Maybe he is the ghost of an old movie after all?
The other people in the room carry on, not even noticing you're there. Each of them enthralled in their thoughts. Just alone, thinking. For a room full of thinkers it's awfully loud. Voices echo around the room. Laughter bounces off the walls like a ball confined in a box. Then you look around and up to the ceiling. There isn't one, just the clear blue sky above you. Not a cloud in sight. Nothing could go wrong. After all, you are in heaven.
Then somebody knocks on the door. Where is everybody?