The Room at the Top of the World

I sit in my room, in the house at the top of the world.

My window displays the parallel vision I cannot break.

The blinds flow as the whispers in the wind drive them crazy.

My guitar sits on its stand, in my room at the top of the world.

My favorite chord breathes its air into my room, filling my lungs with the beautiful breath of art. My covers lay over my legs, on my bed, in the house at the top of the world.

They keep me warm until the iceberg crushes its way through my skull, freezing my memory in the past, until the thought of you caresses my brain and thaws it out with ease.

From my bed, I look through the window and see you prance on the tops of your favorite flowers and smile to give the sun the energy to warm the rest of the world.

From my room, in the house at the top of the world,

I sit and dream about the world you and I could be.