There was a day where I was set on being a hermit living in a yellow cabin with a big dog. This was my happy place. It was a simple place. This was where it would always be sunny and laughter filled.
It's still a fond thought.
However, I could not imagine utterly isolating myself from people even to devote myself to writing. It would be a rather boring existence and what more...I would be confined to live in the reality or unreality of my brain for the extent of my isolation. My brain, though I love it, is a torturous place.
My yellow hermit house is not dead.
It's still a dream.
And maybe, I'll vacation there even if I might not live there.
