So this is my attempt to say what I’ve always known for most of my entire life, dating back to the 6th grade, full rim glasses (framed, acetate-metal, neon purple) front row in Mr. Barley’s biology class: there is no such thing as ice.
And because I’m pretty sure I have no idea how to fully explain myself, this is the part where I go on and on and on, just to say: nothing means nothing.
I mean, nothing really exist.
And I’m not talking about the nothingness that implies little to no value, but the nothingness of life itself.
Nothing is here.
Except I know people who merely think that all of life is just one big conspiracy.
Like I have this one friend who firmly thinks retailers that sell mattresses typically buy up store fronts to launder money.
“Think about it Bella,” he says. “No one’s ever really there.”
Though in any case, ice doesn’t exist. And I’m starting to think, neither do we.
Except nothing can be proven because nothing isn’t here. And yet, I’m starting to feel like this nothingness may be far more than we can imagine.
Except, it’s sad in way. Like everything I’m doing may be forgotten.
I mean, I don’t know anything about atoms but I’m pretty sure everybody knows that very point beyond the darkness that’s rarely understood. And weirdly enough, I feel like it’s more to this truth than we know for sure.
Because who can truly prove the nature of nothing itself…
Though I suppose it’s true what they say: nothing’s impossible to imagine. Because after all, who can truly imagine it?
Until next time.
“Imagination is everything.”— Albert Einstein
