Bags upon the bed and opened, speaking volumes of a traveler's wear. The tacky, flowered curtains sway with the cold, blowing air and blend with the matching bedcloth. Arranging things neatly and swiftly, like a drifter bedding down for the night. The book inside the nightstand drawer, stored alone and out of sight, hasn't been opened in years. I lay flat on my back, smiling slightly, and dreaming of the day that I return. The picture on the sill seems out of place, but the truth is, it just makes it feel more like home.