I pulled the wet towel

I pulled the wet towel

from the hamper.

I'd forgotten to hang it yesterday.

It was heavy. It smelled

like mildew.

This is what happens

when you forget—

the weight accumulates.

The smell settles in.

The fabric gets heavier.

I draped it over my arm.

It dripped.

Small drops hit the floor.

One. Then another.

The sound of my own forgetfulness

hitting tile.

I could have wrung it out.

I could have hung it properly.

I could have done it yesterday

when it was just damp.

But I didn't.

And now I'm carrying

the consequence.

The heavy consequence.

The consequence that smells

like something gone wrong.

I hung it on the rack.

It will dry eventually.

The smell might stay.

The mildew might spread.

This is what the body knows

that the mind forgets—

that negligence has weight.

That forgetting has consequences

you carry around

until you finally let go.