Paradise.

It is Amelia's desire to see somewhere so pretty and paradise-like in her life that she finds it harsh to fathom that she is not dreaming or a character in her favourite book. She, in the end, hopes that the haven would be found in mid August, the very season in which the quaint town that she resides in is still in the tranquil bliss that summer has graced them with, the month where her thoughts and pulse are more immediate than ever. She imagines paradise in a canyon where the tallest mountains fence about her, and the snow on top of them glistens and sparkles, a cheerful place where the imprint of the delicate but long grass that is ever so verdant can be felt through her favourite blanket. She fancies flowers that are shades of blue, yellow, and white that are in their fullest bloom. In her vision line fascinating tall and aged trees ascending up the mountains can be versed as the sunrises. Amelia has always admired the essential beauty of the sunrise; the dark night sky fades into the blue that eventually turns into shades of orange and pink leaving the clouds a pastel purple. The freeness and euphoria she observes while watching the placid earth ever so faultlessly fade into the refreshing dawn of a new day is intensified or so she imagines is, in paradise. She anticipates the air in paradise to be keen while replenishing her lungs and brushing against her face. Amelia longs for the gratification that such a spot will bring her, for the struggles she is perpetually faced with will no longer be so apparent.