Once upon a time there were two roads. Both were highways going through the small town that coincidentally is also the capital city.

At the intersection of these roads was a gas station and motel. These were built in the 1940's, when the highways were busy, and people were on the move.

The motel featured little western-themed cabins painted originally white with red trim. I remember them as pink. With little cowboys and cows on the front under the eaves.

There was a lawn in the center of the complex with trees surrounding the grass. The lawn and the little planters in front of the units were rimmed by white-painted rocks.

There were rose bushes planted in front of the units. Red roses were prominent, as they were her favorites. I remember in the summer, she would always have a clear glass rose bowl in the living room by her chair with a rose in it.

Across the alley were more rooms, and some garages in the back. These had things in them. I didn't get to play in there.

There was also the linen hut. It smelled of starched white sheets, bleached towels and soap. And dust from the driveway.

I don't remember ever seeing the motel in anything but sunshine.

Under the motel sign, he planted carnations. They smelled a lot. I loved them.

Behind the units there was a small avenue of lilac bushes. These were quite tall, and there was a dusty space under them. It was the perfect place to play with my little matchbox cars that I stole from my uncle. There are probably cars buried under the dirt under the blacktop back there to this day.

It's basically all gone. Every bit. What remains will soon be gone forever too. It only exists in my dreams. And I do still dream of the place. Often. It's always summer. It's always sunny. I'm always safe. And all my dead are alive again.