I often dream about living in a cottage amidst the clouds and in the hills when I’m at the twilight of my life. It’s an odd sort of fantasy where I’d be on my own, and a lifetime later, I’d just live a life where there aren’t a lot of people, and obligations, and goals. There will be a life, and days that all seem similar, each peppered with little things that make me smile. I’d have a sort of an open library where I’d invite young people to come over and read whatever they want. I’d also have a counter where I’d make them some coffee or tea, something I imagine I’ll still want to do, irrespective of my age at the time. I’d listen to these people talk and find stories –their stories. I’d scribble sometimes at night, though I won’t call it writing. On days when I feel like it, and because of no other motivation at all, I’d take long walks and strolls along misty pathways. I won’t have a lot of friends, but people who’d live around me and talk to me would remember me and sometimes, they’d throw a little greeting if I passed them as I walked. I’m only twenty-one now but I think I’d like to do that, once I’m old enough, and when a lifetime would’ve passed. Wouldn’t you?