I am nothing. I'm the white space between words on a page, I'm hideous and glorious. I am the night sky dividing everything. I am, nothing. I am neither light nor dark, because I have no definition, I am the personification of nothing so I am the rejected child that everyone ignores and refuses to acknowledge.
Yet if I am nothing why do people still hate me? When you say you hate nothing, does that mean you hate me? Does that make me something? Or when you hate nothing, do you mean you don't hate anything? Am I something? Or am I simply nothing?
I can't be simple, because to say that I am simple is to define me. Everything you know has a definition, but I, nothing, do not have one definition; I have many things that I am not. To say that I'm not something is plausible, in fact, it's inevitable. I am neither an object nor something in the broadest term of the the word.
Something exists. You can see something, touch something, smell, hear, or even feel, something.
Having said that, does that mean if you're apathetic, you feel me? If it's not just a facade you put on to fool everybody, a mask to hide your true emotions, is it me you feel? Does that make me something?
No. I am nothing, nothing cannot be something. I am nothing.
YOU ARE READING
I Am Nothing
General FictionThis is a story personifying literal nothingness and the struggles it has. By the end of this book I hope to show you my point of view, which is that nothing is something
