Into Nothing

Photo by Pierre Bamin on Unsplash

Into Nothing

A concession
less than you planned
is often framed at a glance
as better than
nothing,

as there is nothing less
than nothing.

As in an absence of sound
where a voice should be,

a musical measure
that halts
three beats
before the melody,

an expected reply
to a query of love
that is absent
unexpectedly.

Nothing is both
beginning and end
and it is often neither;

it is nowhere we want to be
and everywhere, inevitably;

a closed door left ajar;

no closure, just a far-off view
of horizon unchanging.

Nothing is not an answer we expect,
but often by not getting it
it’s the answer that we get.

Nothing is what she said
before leaving
after leaving I love you’s
scrawled in condensation
on our shared mirror
before evaporating
into nothing.

***

I know I said that I would be back to writing more frequently, but I wasn’t expecting to become addicted to the Hamilton musical on Disney+

Seriously guys, every waking hour has been spent watching Hamilton, obsessing over Hamilton, breaking down the amazingly dense lyrics to Hamilton, analyzing the musical motifs of Hamilton, watching YouTube videos of others who’ve been analyzing Hamilton, also watching reaction videos of Hamilton, learning the actual history of the real Alexander Hamilton, and well, you get the idea.

Truth be told, the Hamilton Era is the most entertaining of this global pandemic that has exposed my nation as a failed plague-state. It’s way better than the Tiger King Era, and it’s not even close. At-me at your own peril, but I promise, I have the receipts:

Anyway, yes, I’m still alive. Here’s a poem about nothing. Now I gotta get back to watching Hamilton. See you in a week or two.