I do not want to talk about "nothing".
I guarantee that you do not even know what significance nothing holds.
Nothing is so intimate.
Stories, and memories are just things that have happened to you,
they could have happened to anybody.
Nothing tells you exactly who I am,
And how I think,
How I react,
And my whole MO.
I could never be that vulnerable with something like you.
We can certainly NOT "talk about nothing"

Sometimes I whisper my secrets to the ceiling.
Only when the lights are off,
And the fan is spinning.
The fan is very nosey.
I think he is a German spy.
Or maybe I'm the German spy,
And that's what my secrets are all about.
No one will ever know.
Except,
Of course,
For the ceiling.

My cat just sneezed.
It was the cutest thing in the world.
His eyes shut and he blew himself back
About maybe two feet.
He then proceeded to look around confused and offended,
And sneezed yet again.
This time his eyes widened even further,
Showing his displeasure,
Like it was the most unbelievable and horrid mystery in the world.
Then he jumped up on the couch
And he scratched me.

I'll always be there to pick up the pieces, but I wish it didn't happen so often.
And every time you say it'll be different, but sweetie you've lost it.
Cause you just keep putting your hand in the fire, despite that you've been burned, you'll never learn.
And she won't change a **** thing, and it will just keep happening.
And you'll keep crying, and I'll be dying on the inside cause your tears burn me like acid rain, and I can feel the pain I don't want you to feel, and I know it will never change.
I didn't hear when you'll called last night, I fell asleep cause I was just to tired to handel it all.
And this happens all the time, now I'm here to catch you while you fall.
Get your hand away from the flame, and stop playing this game.
Cause every time you play it ends the same.
And she won't change a **** thing, and you will just keep losing.
And she'll keep winning, you didn't see it from the beginning when the cards were dealt, and it felt like nothing was there, just stop looking where some isn't hiding, because the game she plays isn't fair.

The first snow
When it just starts to stick to the ground
Around nine o clock,
And the snow dances in the streetlights.
And the first thing you think of when you wake up
Is getting to walk in it's beauty.
That's her smile.
But she doesn't think it's beautiful.

The first time a hug meant something.
You feel their arms,
Their shoulders,
Their warmth,
The tickle of their breath on the bottom of the left side of your neck,
And the last moment when they tighten around you
Into a solid, comforting fortress before they pull away.
That's the air she exhales.
But she doesn't think it's beautiful.

The most devastating thunder storm.
When the rain is sad,
And not peaceful or light hearted,
And the echo of the cracks of thunder sting your ears.
And the lightening stops getting interesting,
The lightening looks worried.
It looks like suicidal tendencies.
That's what it's like to see her cry.
But she doesn't think it's beautiful.

Battle fields.
Soiled with distraught courage,
Limp hopes,
And dying bravery.
Yet somehow holding the promise of a victory
That will effect hundreds of nations.
Those are her scars.
Yet she doesn't think it's beautiful.

The most perfect day on the beach.
Sandwiches without the sand,
Waves that kiss your toes,
Sun that blankets you with the feeling of security,
And a sunset so perfect
That you wonder if it's real,
Or just a calender's picture for the month of August.
That's her.
But she doesn't think she's beautiful.

It's days like this where I listen to sad songs about fathers abandoning their children and kneel on the big chair by the window, and look outside like I'm seven years old.
I didn't like seven years old.
I hated the first day of it.
I cried all of April twenty-forth that year.
I knelt on the big chair by the front window and felt the wind that I could see the trees felt.
The swayed and shimmered as if they could hear the music too.
Why didn't I sway and shimmer when the wind hit me?
I only got cold and determined.
Seven was the last time I thought that thought until now.
It took me long over a decade to answer that question.
I wish it was something lyrical, majestic, and deep.
It's not.
It's just science.
Sometimes science is sadder than fathers abandoning their children.