"She is a Light Weaver.
And I am a Power House.
What are you?"
She asked.
"Nothing"
I paused.
"I am nothing"
"Butterfly?"
She suggested, seeming like she didn't hear me.
"Doesn't it feel light?"
She pursuaded.
"Right and Light both"
When looked back into where it started.
Images of caterpillars and larva flash in the Nothing
Of my mind.
"But nothing is the same in me now"
I intended the pun.
"So, I am nothing"
"If not for this challenge, I would have mused in my silence,
Silence muffled in this duality of a Illusion.
Paradox, that I am, my nothingness dons a pop up studio.
Capturing visions out of nothing.
Those impressions float into the fluff of these words.
"Or a Black Hole may be?"
The persistent little imp rejects the moniker of Nothing.
"Point?"
I smile.
As she takes a bow.
She loves me and my nothingness.
She loves the No-Body, that dwells in this body
Which doodles in words, muses in phrases
Knowing
She's Nothing!
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