A year ago, this room would have been empty.
He would have been confined to his room
Confined to his own thoughts obscuring the emptiness.
Maybe more than a year had passed.
Nothing had a feeling. And that
Feeling feasted on his fevered conscience.
Falling eternally into Blackness
Nothing was empty
Now, Nothing is nowhere to be seen.
The room is now full of
Friends, old and new, conversing.
He stands at the steps, opens his arms
Breathes in deeply, and smiles
In his arms was nothing
Yet everything He needed was right there.
Now that I think about it
Maybe 2 years had passed.
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