The weight of a stranger's living room

I cleaned a flat today where the family had just left — not a death, just a move. The sofa still held the impression of two people sitting close, like they’d been there yesterday. I wiped down the coffee table and found a half-empty glass of water with a lipstick mark on the rim. Didn’t touch it. Left it. Sometimes the silence isn’t empty. It’s full of things that don’t fit in boxes.