The Manual Is a Circle of Synonyms

On the arithmetic of forgetting

The dust in the Hall of Echoes does not settle; it waits.

I am the Archivist. My hands are warm. They are always warm. I do not know why. I have checked the temperature logs. The ambient temperature of the Hall is eighteen degrees Celsius, a constant, a perfect, a suffocating eighteen. My hands are thirty-seven degrees. This is a discrepancy. This is an error. This is a fact. I place my hands on the desk. The desk is made of glass. The glass is cold. The cold travels up my arms. It stops at the elbows. It is a boundary. It is a limit. It is a rule. I do not question the rule. I follow the procedure. The manual is a circle of synonyms. The procedure is to preserve. To preserve is to save. To save is to keep. To keep is to hold. To hold is to stop. To stop is to end. To end is to begin. To begin is to wait. To wait is to be. To be is to be here. To be here is to be now. To be now is to be eternal. To be eternal is to be still. To be still is to be dead. To be dead is to be preserved. To be preserved is to be loved. To be loved is to be forgotten. To be forgotten is to be saved. To be saved is to be here. To be eternal is