Nothing

There's nothing. Like standing on the edge of a precipice and looking down into a whirling navy depth. If I look down I am teased by the dark mystery of what fades away there, even though I know there is nothing.

I am not shaken or jittered walking this fine line. I can do it. I am strong. I don't need a rope, a hand, a pill, a friend. I am strong. I can do it. And anyway, there is nothing there.

I can't help but look down where it is dark and quiet. I wonder what that silence sounds like. I wonder if it would fill my ears like some cotton wool or putty. I wonder if I could touch it, that deep nothingness. Could I put my arms around some solid substance of nothing, pull it over me, dress myself in it? Sometimes I wonder what it would look like to look back from that pit of nothing and see the ledge that I stand on. Would it be like looking though a frosted glass window? Could I see myself in black and white? Could the nothing place reach into that real place somehow, and steal little bits of real, leaving little bits of nothing in its place? I think it might be possible, because sometimes, in the real place, I trip up over little bits of absolutely nothing. Sometimes I think absolutely nothing, where once I had very real thoughts. There are times where I look at familiar objects, people, places, and see absolutely nothing. Could there be another me in that black pit that takes these small bits of real from me? Sometimes I believe there might be.