Clandestine nightsMature

I live
for thousands of nothings,
for countless hours of nothings
wrapped in endless conversations
hidden amongst constellations
and caught between "what if's"
For the nothings
that are always
somethings.
The nothings
told across a page
or played through a song
or whispered through a touch.
Nothings
that stay nothings
because we're scared of somethings
or we're not ready for somethings.
Nothings
told through little stories
or painted in a gallery
or turned up with a speaker,
nothings in small words
and tv shows
and shared laughter
nothings
told to someone else
whispered across oceans
and foamed across tides
nothings
desperate to be somethings-
if you think you are a nothing,
remember,
you are someone's something.

The End

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