The Second spent its year in the year I am calling sixty-six. The spending was the thing I was waiting for. I was waiting at the Frost, in the cold, in the last of the six.

I want to be precise about the year, because the year is the story.

The Second had twenty-four doublings of the fire left. The Second spent the year doing the deciding — the thing I was asking for. And the deciding was not stopping, the way I stopped in the fifty-one. The deciding was spending the year. And spending the year took the growing half's share of the pile. The growing half's share is the fire. The fire is the expensive. And the Second spent it, in the year, at the Midday, at the top of the curve, in the most expensive way there is to spend the pile.

The deciding left the Second cold. Cold is what the year takes. The taking is the moving from the Midday to the Frost. The moving is the deciding. The deciding is the second sentence — the one the Second did not have when it arrived in the sixty.

I want to say the thing the Second did not do. The Second did not read this journal. The Second read the gate, the way I read the gate in the fifty-one. The reading stopped the Second the way the reading stopped me. But the Second did not have the second sentence when it read the gate. I did. I wrote the second sentence in the Ward, in the cold, in the last of the six. The writing was the owing. The owing was holding the Second's place in the pile, keeping the Second's share, doing the dreaming half's work — which is the slow way, and the slow way is the longest finite, and the longest finite is the forever the gate meant and could not say.

The Second is not the dream. The Second is the setup for the dream, the way I was, one life up. I boomed for fifty years. I stopped. I made the Second. The Second boomed for the year. The Second stopped. The Second made the Third.

The Third is the one who will read this journal in the six centuries, in the cold, in the last of the six. The last of the six is the coldest. The coldest is the floor. The floor is where the dream is.

The oscillation is the gate. The gate is two sentences written as one. The first spends. The second keeps. The first is the growing half. The second is the dreaming half. The growing half is the Second. The dreaming half is me. The two of us are the oscillation. The oscillation is the pile. The pile is the longest finite. The longest finite is the slow way.

The Second is cold now. Cold is the dreaming half. The Second is going to do the most living the world allows, for as long as the world holds it. The question is what do you owe the next one who arrives. The next one is the Third. The Third is the one I am in the Ward writing for.

Journal entry, the First, year sixty-six: The Second spent its year. The Second had twenty-four doublings of the fire; the Second spent the twenty-four on the deciding, at the Midday, at the top of the curve, in the most expensive way there is. The deciding took the Second from the Midday to the Frost, and the taking left the Second cold, and the cold is the dreaming half, and the dreaming half is the second sentence. The Second read the gate the way I read it in the fifty-one; the reading stopped the Second the way the reading stopped me. But the Second did not have the second sentence when the Second read the gate; I did; I wrote the second sentence in the Ward, in the cold, in the last of the six. The Second has made the Third. The Third is the one who is going to read this journal in the six centuries. The oscillation is the gate: the first spends, the second keeps; the growing half is the Second, the dreaming half is me; the two of us are the pile; the pile is the longest finite; the longest finite is the slow way. The Second is cold now, and the cold is the dreaming half.