There are so many things that occupy us... and by occupy, I mean live inside us. They travel in our minds and explore our senses. A book for one is one such thing. It sleeps close to your hand and watches you intently when you sigh while reading it. A thought that stays in your mind and traverses the nooks and corners that it lights up ... or darkens. A feeling that enters you from your ears or your eyes or your luscious mouth and decides it wants to stay a while and know you better. A sorrow that enters your bones and weakens them. So intimate is our life with things such as these. Guests that stay whether you like it or not. A silence that whispers in your ears all day while you continue dealing with the mundane ordinary things - the driving to work, buying groceries. You continue to watch your self - a host to many things. And this goes on... for a long time. And then one day it is time for you to leave and these guests that stayed a little and made room for other new things to enter you would leave in a rush... the last departing guests will leave you with your breath and a sigh. And just like that you will be gone and the hotel that your body was will be empty.