-7.40p.m-
Hotel rooms.
I crave them much too often than I should.
And more often than not, I wished I could just check myself in and hide there for a while.
Alone.
But then I wonder, why pay so much money to sink into an unfamiliar bed just to cry myself to sleep?
Fact is, I don’t know.
All I know is, that’s what I wish I could do if I could really afford it.
Hotel rooms.
If they could talk, they would tell you so many different stories. That chair in that corner would have so much to say and those pillows would have a million emotions to share.
What was the previous guest like?
Was he alone? Was he lonely?
Or was he with someone? Someone special or just someone?
What were the thoughts running in every guests head?
Was the previous guest just like me?
Or was he was genuinely happy.
What secrets would the cracking walls whisper and what moving images would the mirrors reflect?
So much goes on.
All that history in the dimly lit rooms I crave.
Even mine becomes a part of that room whos number I will not remember.
Hotel rooms.
I need you more than ever.
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