Welcome to RSLVE's abode.
The room is white, all white. Not a flat, harsh white, but a comforting white. The light comes in from no discernable place: there are no windows. Yet it is pure and clear but not harsh. There is a bed there, a soft white bed covered by white blankets which are fleecy and light.
The door is only there when it is wished to be there. Often, he does not wish it to be there, so it is not.
Beyond the door there is a hallway, an anteroom really. You can cross it to a window that opens to a balcony. From there you can feel and smell the sea. It is cool and windy there, and sometimes it rains. One gets the feeling it is the tears he cannot cry. When he lays in the bed dreaming or remembering and one can hear his screams echoing off the white walls the sea rages and crashes, but all is safe within the walls. They are comforting and strong, and will not let harm in.
Sometimes the hallway has another door. This door leads to a garden, very quite and peaceful. Flowers bloom here, though the scents are not strong, and the grass is lush and green and soft. It is never hot here but the plants always grow. Sometimes it is winter, and there is snow and ice upon the pond. You can hear birds in the trees in spring, for it is only either spring or winter here.
No other hand then his touches here, nor does any other come here. This is his own, his private place. His quiet place away from the world. For the world is often not quiet, nor comforting nor calm. And it hurts.
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