Don’t know how I feel about hotel rooms. Clean but worn, safe but vulnerable, enjoyable but costly. They symbolize escape and relief but are generic, impersonal, communal. A strange intersection between private and public. When I am in them I can never stop thinking about what has taken place in that room or what is taking place in the adjacent room. How many people have cried on this pillow or made love on these sheets? How was their life different when they left? When I leave these places I am dreary with a sense of conformity as if during the night I absorbed all the stories the walls have watched unravel. I walk away with a sense that people don’t change but run in the same circles in new ways, rarely learning from the past.
This entry was written by , posted on March 30, 2009 at 11:32 pm, filed under Personal, Travels and tagged california, Portrait, woman. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.
Extra-like this. I didn’t realize that I feel the same way.