/lit/ - Literature

“no reason?”

her face draws me in, reminds me of the force of a vacuum, of emptiness, but not simply nothing, for it’s the difference between things and nothing that gives nothing it’s strength, the growing separation of things that eventually snaps, bringing them together.

nothing is alluring. underwear, the things covering bare flesh, the presence of an unknown island, of the potential novelties resting within your sight, although in this sense nothing should be the empty sea. it’s wrong to equate things with nothing only because they are unknown, but the allure of emptiness still brings about its own end.

the empty house, filled with things, or the empty chest, filled with things, or even the empty sky, filled with things, all through no deliberate act, but inevitably nothing remains for too long. the universe was also nothing, there were no things, but even that nothing was taken away. before we are created, we dwell as potential things, as nothing, but we are actualized through this conspiracy against nothing, and so we exist as things until we die and finally return to nothing.

this second phase of nothing is what i imagine can’t be taken away from us. no more potentiality or actuality, just nothing, and i see this degree of nothing in her face as i ask “how does it feel?”