I like it here. Nothing happens here. The door is shut and locked. There must be more than a dozen rooms in this floor alone and no one will know where I’m staying. That is, no one who knows me will know where I’m staying. I haven’t told any acquaintance of mine, nor has anyone asked.
I like it here. It’s quiet. It’s absolutely still. The room is semi-dark. The carpet feels right. I’m taking my socks off. Nothing happens. I’ll sit here in this corner and hug my knees. The temperature is just about right. I’ll stand up and pace the room. I’ll open the bathroom door. Everything is as it should be. The towels are neatly folded and perfectly placed on the sink beside the mirror. I don’t like bath tubs. It’s a good thing this room didn’t have a bath tub. I like the shower area.
I’ll close the door. I’ll part the curtains and peek through the window. The traffic in the streets below is light. Nothing is happening there. Nothing is happening here. I breathe in the cool air. I love the smell of fresh linens. I love the smell of a well-cleaned A/C unit.
I’ll sit on the swivel chair. It’s perfect. My body is nestled perfectly on the leather seat. It’s neither hot nor cold. The TV set is turned off. I’ll never turn it on. Not while I’m here. The lamp shade casts its light against the wall. I love it that way. I’ll stand up and turn on the rest of the lights. I don’t mind the extra brightness. I’m alone, so it’s okay. Everything’s okay. I’m here, and nothing is happening.
I won’t be able to hear the conversations in the next room, if there are guests staying there, or the conversations in the hallway, if guests will pass through there. I won’t be able to hear the noise from the streets. It will just be me and the sound of my feet on the carpet, or the noise I will make when I’ll turn on the faucet, flush the toilet, or take a shower.
I’ll lie down on the bed. It’s just right, it’s just perfect. The bed welcomes my body like a mother. It gives me instantaneous rest. I’ll lie for a few minutes without moving, then I’ll take off my jeans and snuggle between the sheets. My head is swallowed by the large pillows and I am lost in the softness and smoothness of the pillowcase and blankets. No noise is heard except that of my breathing and the humming of the A/C unit. I like it here. I like it like this. This is want I wanted for so long. I’m finally here. Nothing happens, and nothing will happen as long as I’m here. No one will call, and no one is expecting my call.
I’ll curl like an infant and go deeper into my mind. My head is sandwiched between the giant pillows. My nostrils are filled with the smell of fresh fabric. Nothing will happen here.