It was the last glance back as I carried the remaining painting supplies to my car that made me stop. I had been here nearly a week, painting a friend’s apartment in exchange for a place to stay. It wasn’t the most favorable barter I’ve ever made, but at the time, it was the best option I could find on short notice—a quiet place in the city for free. Well, almost free

Empty rooms always evoke a sense of profound reflection for me. Upon arrival, they symbolize the possibility of something yet to be realized, a blank canvas waiting for its story. But when departing that same room, now empty, seems to hold all the history and experiences within its bare walls. Even when it’s not my history, the lingering presence of past experiences feels palpable, like a thick cloak draped over a living room chair.

The gradation of light across the empty wall and the vast city outside creates a poignant tension in this room. As I close the door behind me, I am keenly aware of the transient nature of my brief stay here and the stories left untold.