I cry out to my friends about how much I hate living out of a Suitcase and hotel rooms.
But I secretly love them. Laying my head in white, fluffy pillows that I will never see again. A door I can lock, a comforter I can hug, and a view I can retire to after I’m done doing whatever it is I came to the city to do. How romantic.
They don’t talk back. They don’t snore and they don’t judge. Like people do.
Some call it a lonely life but I am lively enough. I call it recharging. When I am with you, I’m on.
When I am in that bed alone, I’m home.
Great read. Thanks for sharing.