It's all she ever wanted, a room of her own. A place no one could interrupt her thoughts, where she could be at peace with herself. No phones, no internet, no TV, no radio: no way of the outside world interfering with her creativity. The apartment was actually a secluded room hidden behind the walls of a penthouse apartment in the city. It was designed with someone like her in mind, a writer with a great need for privacy yet an equal need for mental space. With windows for walls on three sides, the view was majestic. Rising above the clouds, the sky provided the space her mind needed.
Built into the structure of the room was a lavishly adorn double wide hammock, draped in fine linens, vintage lace, and embroidered pillows. Here is where she let her thoughts run free as she lie down in luxury, swaying seemingly in mid air. The tall palm trees in each corner created the illusion of a tropical oasis. She was free to imagine the stories she would write.
In the most peculiar form was her writing desk. On one side it was low to the floor with an over stuffed pillow for a seat. Here she could stretch out or sleep even on this enormous floor pillow. However, she used it to sit and write when she wanted to feel earthy. There were many unique potted plants surrounding the lower level of this desk area; ferns in moss covered pots, blooming orchids and roses, and ivy she let trail along the edges of the plush brown rug. An indoor garden replicating the yard she did not have.
The hand crafted desk was a work of art. In a smooth swooping fashion, the wood curved and turned in a crescent shape as it shifted higher to the other side. One could imagine it to be slide for garden fairies. This side of the desk was for more serious writing. It had a ergonomic chair for long periods of sitting and a halogen desk lamp. A hot cup of coffee could be found on this desk at any time along with a small crackle glass vase with fresh flowers she replaced each week.
Being a writer she was easily inspired by some antique writing tools such as the old ink well and pen, vintage paper, a small stack of very old books, and a turn of the century magnifying glass, all kept on this desk. A candle stick in a bronze holder was not far from where she did her work. An old friend told her how burning a candle added negative ions to the air which cleared the toxins and made for a pleasant experience. This writing desk is everything she wished for and more.
There's no need for a kitchen table, nor seating for visitors, this place is only for her. She waited many years for it to become a reality and she delights in every moment she is there. A small refrigerator keeps just enough essentials of nutrients. She no longer cooks for herself, but rather eats small amounts of nuts, berries and vegetables throughout the day to sustain her. Food is unimportant to her now that she has found freedom to be herself.
This small secluded apartment is her home, the home she held in heart since she knew she would write. Success is not in the volumes she has written, it is in the peace and happiness she has finally found.