Why does no one ask her about why she wants to scoop up other people in her arms like a mother does an infant... Why would she rather kiss their faces wet than ever wonder about her dry cheeks?  Why does she always want to play the host to other people's mind n body whereas her own lies vacant... Vacant... Sometimes she's not sure if there are any walls or rooms... She in fact finds them in the minds of other people and tries to make their bed and put on the tea and sleep by their side awake...wishing they would wake up but actually not coz time could stand still like this... Is she the host? Or is she finding herself a room in others' homes n trying to make it so good and comfy for them that perhaps they would invite her to stay... Stay on... But could she stay? She never stayed in her own soul... She easily slipped into roles that fit them best... But they did not want her fluffy pillows... They didn't want her thousand kisses... She doesn't know what they want... She is too busy making their beds... Occupying the timelessness of staring at someone too far away... So far away in their dream lands that she can only hear their short breaths.... The timelessness of not knowing if this time her shifting would wake them up... Only when they are so so far away can she almost begin to hear her own breath from somewhere behind theirs.