Answer:
Late afternoons I often bathe. I'll soak in water piping hot. My essence goes through. My see through clothes. Used up am I - I've gone to pot.
Always old, sometimes new. Never sad, sometimes blue. Never empty, sometimes full. Never pushes, always pulls.
I always follow my brother but you cannot see me, only him. You cannot hear him but you can hear me. What are we?
What can be seen but never found that only hides in the unwound?
Never alive but practically extinct. How we miss the letters pressing the ribbon of ink. What is it?
What do you purposefully put lots of in and on your body, but run away from when you encounter it outside?