There is something comforting about hotel lobbies. Like being in front of a portal to a world where you are simply a guest.
No commitments, no expectations, no definite plans.
I am here just for a while, I don't need to own this place to enjoy it.
I take in the scent of overpowering restroom air-fresheners - which I would never use at home - and I vibrate with the expectations of discovering the place.
Why do I feel so good about this blissful uncertainty and change completely once the holiday is over?
Our whole lives are temporary stop-overs in places we call 'homes'. Do we really enjoy them better because we give them a permanent status? Because they are full of stuff we call 'our own?'
Or we need our homes to have something to escape from? Or it's me, a constant escapist, somewhere over the rainbow when I'm not behind a photograph?
