Entering his bedroom, I glance around without my awe-goggles on and find it to be equally as soulless as it is beautiful. Wandering around the room, I circle each perfectly exquisite piece of polished black-wood furniture. My heart sinks lower still. The only sign this is a permanent residence and not a hotel room is my dreamcatcher swaying under the air conditioner's gentle current. Sighing, I make a mental note to create a pillow stack with his cushions every morning.
