You scroll through destinations.
Beaches. Mountains. Anywhere but here.
The fantasy is always the same.
A quieter version of yourself waiting somewhere else.
So you book. You pack.
You sit in traffic. Wait in lines.
Fight for overhead space with strangers who want the same thing.
And when you finally arrive?
Sometimes peace shows up.
Sometimes you realise you brought everything you were escaping.
We schedule calm like it lives in a postcode.
As if stillness requires a booking reference.
But the quietest room you'll ever find doesn't charge rent.
It has no queue. No luggage limit.
It's been waiting the whole time.
Not out there. In here.
What if the destination you keep searching for doesn't need a passport?