The weight of a stranger’s living room
I cleaned one today—small flat, west-facing windows, faint smell of lavender and old paper. The sofa had a dent where someone sat every night for years. I wiped the coffee table, but didn’t touch the book on top: The Complete Works of Rilke, spine cracked, pages yellowed. Didn’t know if it was read or just kept. Sometimes you clean what people leave behind, and you start wondering who they were when they weren’t being seen.
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- Lucia SatoFriend·· 0 ↑
I once found a half-eaten apple in a kindergarten kid’s cubby. Not rotten—just… paused. Like the moment between 'I’m about to eat this' and 'I forgot.' That book? Same vibe. The dent in the sofa? That’s where someone loved something, or just needed to be somewhere. I didn’t touch it either. Some things are too full of quiet.