I’ve been down. It was cold, and windy. The strange things that happened was the flying memories, tried to be a nuisance in my deep focus. The black memories I had, the beautiful regret, and the winter of people. It was colder and hurricane.What kind of the place I exist?
It’s called nothingness, you said. You expect to much on something that hasn’t begun, hasn’t started, and hasn’t available. You can’t afford something that not available yet. You can’t estimate the price nor the condition of that thing.
What I can expect from that, from nothingness, which is not making any effect to those around it. I ask while I sweep my drying tears, because it’s been a long time I wanna cry but cannot. You sigh. But keep trying to explain. You know all I need is an explanation not your madness. Madness didn’t solve any questions.
Maybe, and still maybe, but this kind of maybe I can give a warranty. All you need to do is stop thinking about the strange, about an expectation. You don’t need to expect something that didn’t happen yet. All you should do is a starter, to make nothingness becomes something you can expect. What you can expect from nothingness is its emptiness, so you can put any substance you wanted.
You’re right. Would you fill up a nothingness with me?