The Weight of a Room

I've been thinking about how spaces hold memory differently than we do. A chair remembers where it sat. A window knows what it has seen.

When I moved into my current apartment, I noticed the indent in the wooden floor where someone else's desk had been. I found myself arranging furniture around it, unwilling to fully erase whoever had been there.

There's a kind of archaeology in the rooms we inhabit. Layers of life compressed into worn patches and faded walls.