1 The Berlin Hotel.

I continue to travel the world with my books as i remain shook from the painful past i seek to recover from,as i ride trains,ans horses,encounter magicians and musiciens,a journey i wish to never end. As i make my way to a hotel,found by coincidence it catches the eye,with tall walls and delightful floors,i book a chamber,away from the umber. You should've seen what i seen,been where i always wanted. I pay my fee and up the elevator goes and the 19th floor room number : 850,i put my bags near my chamber door and i lay in my bed,as the night veild i changed my clothing,switched to something comfortable and i went back to my bed,made with tears of heaven and passion of hell. When midnight stroke i heard a bell,followed by a piano. And i heard whispers under my bed,i ignored them first. They remained silent awhile. Only for a little it seems as i hear them again,shaking whispers drifting away with the wind let in by an open window. I rose disturbed from my bed to close the window i thought existed,my desires resisted. And my sorrow inflicted;i stood still suprised to see that there is four walls with no windows. And so i return to see what's underneath the bed,my sorrows i embed. I see nothing,and i hear them again near the door,my curiousity prevails and i go open the door,drawn by noises and whispers,"ghosts don't exist" or so i thought,i walked the narrow hallway,all the way following the whispers,"come closer" with a soft fading voice,sweet and smooth like a lullaby, The Berlin Hotel,no ordinary hotel it seems,haunted it seems the lost it redeems,as the darkness reveals;i met a ghost there,a bright and warm one,i know it's a silly thing to do yet! I offered the ghost my heart from first sight,it kept warm and light me my way back. Who would've thought? A ghost can be merciful while humans are dreadful beasts. Her name was Berlin,which the hotel was named after,and i began to understand why,she showed me. Showed me that there is no bed she is the bed,and the sheets. She opened the window and closed it. And my heart she never gave back,and the key of my chamber was my heart,so i could never leave room:850 and the 19th floor was haunted and the narrow lobby was bleak. As i remain in my chamber a locked door and for a window i seek. I still beg for my heart and she wouldn't give it back. From shook i became an empty book,full with pages yet nothing written;for imprisoned i am among for walls,and a ghost that only comes in the night. Forced to choose between two roads,i chose both and stand to suffer,the loneliness is utter and the ghost's name i mutter,lifeless...without my heart,in the night i fill the pages of the book,with my own words;and i stop at the arrival of birds. Night in and night out,i ceal more my mouth,in a hotel room i write. The Berlin Hotel;once you come in you never go out. You cannot! For thar you must recover your heart. The more i write i dig down the fright;and the night gets longer and the desire grows stronger;in the day the ghost remains a foreigner,i can only hope by the time i finish the book i can restore my heart,yet i fear by that time i won't be needing it.