While the sky turns an assortment of vivid colours, I shall lie back in my tiny boat, and stare, losing myself in the inconstant hues, letting the boat drift where it may. I shall be filled with such peace that unhappiness may never roost in my heart again. The boughs of the pine trees shall sigh my contentment in the breeze, and the birds shall soar with the freedom I enjoy.
I shall have my camera with me, so that I might capture these fleeting moments, and reflect upon them when the sun has said "Goodnight" to the world. Or perhaps my easel and paintbrush, to sit upon the banks of the lake and with rapid, then languid brushstrokes, encapsulate the dreamscape before me.
When the days turn cold I shall sit in my house beside the blazing fire, and enjoy the tales preserved in the pages of ancient books. The land will turn white, and its true majesty shall reveal itself, so that I might feel blessed to live in such a place.
So while I might live alone, as I believe I am doomed to do, I shall be content; there is a certain magic in feeling lonely and content at the same time. But I shall sit on my porch, beneath the dark sky, illuminated by the billions of stars which the city lights dim, and think to myself, that I have indeed found that legendary pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, after surviving the hard, arduous and ugly road which led to it.