a chilly night

A feeling of loneliness permeates the air as I examine the beautiful interior of my hotel room. The cool air brushes against my skin and I shiver, momentarily.

I am in Cameron Highlands on a work assignment and all the loveliness surrounding me seems almost wasted for someone so horribly, horribly single.

I say it as if it were a disease.

(Perhaps it is.)

My eyes sweep over the chaise longue, with comfy pillow propped up on either side of its armrests. It will remain unoccupied for the entire duration of my stay. The veranda over-looking the scenery dotted with fields and hills will remain unvisited. I will only occupy a part of the bed, and only the bathroom will be utilised. I will only use what is necessary.

What a waste.

A hotel room meant for two occupied by a single person. It is a luxury that is lost on me. In the cool atmosphere of the highlands, I would much rather be snuggling on a cramped, rickety bed with somebody else to share the warmth of our bodies than to lie awake under bedsheets that barely takes away the cold.

Lying all alone in a big bed is sadness. Occupying a hotel room on my own is sadness.

I hate this feeling.