The sea is where I belong. The sky a deep, shining blue. Each ripple takes the form of a cloud moseying across the horizon. The current, a gentle breeze blowing past me, speeding up my every movement. Each particle of water bursting at our every collision, the aftermath of bubbles climbing up my skin. I would have the freedom to travel from the Meridian to the Antarctic Ocean.

Maybe the sky should be my habitat. I could keep a close eye on those around me. I would lay among the clouds, let them envelope me in cotton and take me past the point of the human eye. I would travel with the birds, feeling the wind in my face. The sky is the limit, for it is nearly limitless.

The depths of a volcano could be my keeper. No visitors and definite peace. As if constantly wrapped in blankets, the heat would pulse through me. I would flow through the caverns, dig deeper into Mother Earth. Her existence guaranteeing my safety, for without her I am just another rock. My beauty would captivate people, my anger would destroy people.

Or maybe I could just be me. I live just below the 49th Parallel, under the arms of my mother. Following the same routine day-by-day. A place where my personal freedom is the freedom to follow the rules. Speak when spoken to, play follow the leader, and remain unseen; those are the rules of my life. I am the man’s worker. Your importance is ranked by your role in society. Betrayal, depression, selfishness, and worst of all, love; the horrid things that run my life. Yet, the thing that tops the cake is what makes my life absolutely, blissfully, perfect.