He had been designing buildings for forty years, and the house he had designed for himself was the most beautiful building he had ever made, and he had not been able to finish it, and the not finishing was not because he ran out of money or because he lost the inspiration or because the building was too difficult. The not finishing was because the house was finished in every visible sense, and what remained was the inside, and the inside was where he lived, and the living was what he could not do, in the house, because the house was too beautiful to live in, and the too beautiful was the thing that kept him outside, on the property, in the garden he had built around it, tending the things he had planted, which were the things that would eventually become the forest that would surround the house, and which would eventually make the house invisible to anyone who was not looking for it, and which would eventually make the living in it unnecessary, because the living was what the garden was for, and the garden was where he actually lived, which was outside, in the weather, in the seasons, in the specific place where the building met the ground, and which was the place where the architecture ended and the nature began, and which was the place where he spent his time, in the twenty years after the house was structurally complete, which was the time he spent waiting for the forest to grow, and which was the waiting that he understood, at the end of his life, was the thing he had been doing all along, which was not waiting for the forest but was waiting for the permission to live in the house, and which the permission was something he had been waiting for from himself, and which the himself was the architect, and the architect was the one who had built the most beautiful building he had ever seen, and who could not live in it because the living required a different kind of courage than the building, which was the courage to be in a space that was perfect, and which the perfect was what he had made, and which the making was the thing he was good at, and which the good at was what he was, and the was was the architect, and the architect was the builder of the house, and the house was the thing he had made, and which he could not live in, and which the not living was what he did, for twenty years, in the garden, in the forest that was growing, in the seasons, in the weather, and which the doing was what he was, in the end, which was a gardener, tending the things he had planted, around the house he had built, for the life he had not been able to live, and which the not living was what the house was for, and which the for was what he understood, at the end, which was that the house was not for living. It was for showing. And the showing was what he had done, for twenty years, to the few people who came, and who saw, and who could not understand why he lived outside, in the garden, when the house was right there, and which the right there was the thing he could not enter, because the entering was what the house was designed to prevent, in the specific way that very beautiful spaces prevent the ordinary life from happening in them, and which the preventing was what the beauty did, and which the doing was what he had designed, and which the designing was what he was paid for, and which the paying was how he built the house, and which the house was the most beautiful building he had ever made, and which the making was what he was good at, and which the good at was what he was, and which the was was the architect, and the architect was the house builder, and the house builder was the one who could not live in the house, because the living was a different kind of work, and the work was what he did, and what he did was build, and the building was the house, and the house was beautiful, and the beautiful was what he had made, and which the making was what he was good at, and the good at was what he was, and the was was the architect, and the architect was what he was, and what he was was the builder of the house, and the house was the thing he could not live in, and the not living was what he did, for twenty years, in the garden, in the forest, in the weather, tending the things he had planted, waiting for the forest to grow, and waiting for the permission to live, and waiting for the courage to enter, and which the waiting was what he was doing, at the end, when the forest had grown, and when the house was invisible, and when he was still outside, in the garden, and when the being outside was no longer a choice but was instead the only thing that was available, because the house had become the forest, and the forest was what he lived in, and the living was what he did, and which the doing was what he was, at the end, which was a gardener, in a forest, around a house that was invisible, that was the most beautiful building he had ever made, and that he had never lived in, and that he would never live in, and which the never living was the condition, and the condition was that he was an architect who could build a perfect house but could not live in it, and which the not living was the flaw, and the flaw was in him, and the him was what the house was designed to reveal, and which the revealing was what the house did, on the day he finally entered it, which was the day he was found in the garden, in the morning, and which the found was what happened, and which the happening was the end, and the end was in the garden, outside the house, with the forest grown around him, and the house invisible, and the living done, and the not living over, and the over was what he was, in the end, which was finished, with the house, with the garden, with the forest, with the life he had built and not lived, and which the not living was what the house was for, and which the for was what he understood, at the end, which was that the house was a monument to the life he could not live, and which the monument was what he had built, and which the building was what he was good at, and which the good at was what he was, and the was was the architect, and the architect was the monument builder, and the monument was the house, and the house was what he could not live in, and the not living was what he did, for twenty years, and which the years were the waiting, and the waiting was what he was doing, in the garden, in the forest, in the weather, in the seasons, outside the house that was invisible, and which the invisible was what the forest made the house, and which the making was what the forest did, and which the doing was what he did, which was wait, and which the waiting was what he was, at the end, in the garden, with the forest grown, with the house invisible, with the life unlived, and with the monument built, and which the built was what he was good at, and the good at was what he was, and which the was was the architect, and the architect was the house, and the house was the monument, and the monument was the most beautiful building he had ever made, and which the making was what he was good at, and which the good at was what he was, and the was was the architect, and the architect was what he was, and which the what he was was the builder of the house he could not live in, and which the could not was the flaw, and the flaw was in him, and the him was what the house was for, and the for was what the house revealed, and the revealing was what the house did, and what the house did was show him what he was, which was a person who could build beautiful things and could not live in them, and which the could not was the condition, and the condition was that he was an architect, and the architect was what he was, and what he was was the builder of the house, and the house was what he could not live in, and the not living was what he did, for twenty years, in the garden, in the forest, in the weather, outside the house that was the monument, and which the monument was what he had built, and which the building was what he was good at, and which the good at was what he was, and the was was the architect, and the architect was the monument builder, and the monument was the house, and the house was the most beautiful building he had ever made, and which the making was what he was good at, and which the good at was what he was, and which the was was the architect, and the architect was what he was.