Empty rooms. Plush hotels. Loneliness. Carpets stained with memories and rushes of the thousands of lives that have lived here. The air heavy with the smoke of countless cigarettes that were lit here, only to count the passing minutes. The silent nights not as dark as the darkness that fills your soul. Every minute takes you further away from home, yet, threatening to bring the journey to an abrupt end. Stifling luxuries and trifles not needed. Books that take you far away into a world you desire, the one you can never have.
Tired walks down the deserted evening roads. Cigarette smoke makes love to the fog and the chilly winds make your face go numb. The road to take at the crossroads seems like the easiest choice you had ever made. Alien country, nothing to call your own, yet, this minute, it embraces you like the warmth of a mother’s arms while estranging you the next.