Photography- Photographer Athena
Some rooms are remembered by dampness before comfort
The towel is still damp
from yesterday.
Not wet.
Just cool at the fold,
heavy at the edge.
The bathroom has no window,
only a fan that speaks
more than it helps.
Steam settles into grout,
into plaster,
into the hem of everything.
By the second night,
the room carries that soft, used smell—
soap, pipe water, fabric.
You stop noticing luxury.
You notice weather indoors.
How a place holds moisture.
How it holds you, too.