There is a hole in the wall of my bedroom. I pretend I am frightened so my parents read to me at night. I tell them there is nothingness on the other side and close my eyes like I cannot bear to witness. Yet as they read, I imagine the smoothing of edges. If I climb onto my dresser and extend my hand into darkness, my nerves will quiet. If I release the cool white wall and plunge, I will land in calm. In this space, each question hovers slight as shredded paper. Each doubt recedes before it can be borne. The mystery is scarcely glimpsed. There is stillness on the other side.