The Room That Waits

There are rooms that seem to remember people.

Not their names.
Not their voices.

Only the shape they left behind.

A chair waiting in the light.
A lamp left burning in the dark.
An open window leading somewhere else.

Perhaps nothing happened here.

Or perhaps something has just ended.

We often think of emptiness as the absence of something. But sometimes an empty room is not empty at all. It is full of what has already happened — and of what might still happen.

The light enters quietly.

The room waits.