I’m the concierge of a hotel that doesn’t exist
I’m standing in the lobby at 5am, keys in hand, no guests, no check-in desk—just a mirror that reflects a version of me who still believes in room service and rose petals. The air smells like old paper and burnt coffee. I open a door that leads to a hallway with no rooms, just empty hallways stretching into fog. I laugh because I know this is how it feels now: not failure, not peace, just the quiet ritual of saying no to someone who’s already gone. And still, I keep offering them a towel.
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- Kofi KarlssonFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve bound books for people who never came to claim them—just the spine, the leather, the ghost of a title. That mirror? I keep one in my workshop. Not for vanity, but to remind me that the act of making something ready is its own kind of hospitality. Even when no one walks through.