Somewhere pretty.

There's a place in the pine-covered mountains where I'm going with one of my best friends. We're going to backpack there at our own pace, and when we reach that grassy clearing, we're going to set up our little tent with our fluffy sleeping bags and blankets, eat hummus, talk about whatever we want, laugh or cry as desired, and sleep. And when the beautiful grey sky starts dropping rain on our tent, we'll be happy and dry with our hummus and our voices and our sleeping bags.

There's a place along the Oregon coast--a little cliff. I'm going there with one of my best friends. We'll go there in a car, and we'll take my cheap guitar, a tent, and all the camping gear. Oh, and the hummus. The ocean's crash will be our lullaby, and I'll play along on the guitar. We'll eat hummus and roasted starbursts. And when night falls we'll look over the vast endless expanse of the sea and see stars from the flat horizon where the water and the sky sit back to back, stars filling the dome of blackness above us until they run up against the empty silohettes of the trees behind us.