The sky above is an airborne ocean; the ground below an itchy bed of green and brown.

The wind runs through me as the image finally arrives. I grab my sketchbook and pull the picture from my mind with a pencil.

Once charcoal touches paper, a new world is born...

A world of my own filled with layers of tress.

A place in my mind where rivers never run dry. Where the sun always shines and flowers never die.

I can sleep in the shade while fairies dance above me. All my troubles drown themselves in the lake beside me.

It is here, in my perfect world, where I am finally at peace.

But not for long...

Once my drawing is finished, I am pulled back into cruel reality.

My perfect world exists only in my mind; the only way to travel is by sketchbook.