The marble floors reflected gold, The chandelier outshined the rain. A leather book lay open wide, Beside a fountain pen and name. The key was polished, cold to touch, Its brass had weathered years before. A quiet number caught my eye... Suite... Sixty.. Nine... The jazz rolled softly through the hall, Like every note had always known. I wandered deeper through the silence... Somehow feeling almost home The evening wore a velvet suit, The saxophone poured smoke through the air. Every stranger passed politely, With distant stories in their stare. No footsteps echoed down the halls, No luggage rested by the doors. Every room was occupied... Yet nobody was asking more. I couldn't place the road behind me, Couldn't picture where I'd been. The past kept slipping through my fingers... Like waking from a half-lit dream. The windows framed the falling rain, Though dawn refused to touch the sky. Every clock stood still in silence... Still pretending time could fly. The guestbook waited where I'd left it, Names flowing neatly page by page. Every line looked strangely peaceful... Every signature the same. A melody unlocked a memory... Headlights cutting through the storm. A twisting road... A flash of white... Then everything was suddenly warm. The rain... The lights... The broken glass... A heartbeat fading into night. The silence wasn't empty... It was waiting... For me to understand. My coat was folded on my arm, My suitcase standing by the door. The kind of quiet morning feeling... That says it's time to travel on. The leather book lay open once again, Its pages turning slow and still. I searched the lines for my departure... But they were waiting to be filled. No farewell written by my name. No final stamp. No closing line. Only careful hands that gently moved... My name... To another page. Beside a single entry... Suite 69. The piano whispered one last answer. The saxophone released the night. I finally understood the silence... Some journeys never end in goodbye. Outside the rain kept softly falling. Inside the lights refused to fade. And somewhere, through the hotel doors... Another name... Was being written.
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