Something

Nothingness is spreading across my room in search of a place to hide, embarrassed at its nakedness. Nothingness regains its courage and begins its course; Nothingness outstretches its long folded arms once again and reaches out from nook to cranny. It seeps across walls leaving patched holes in its place. It crawls across desks and bookcases and mattresses. Nothingness withering away on windowsills. Nothingness escorting out somethingness. Nothingness slithering across the carpets and tiles, mirrors and staircases. Nothing is pushing out everything. Nothing is making way. Nothing is created. Nothing is there.