It was nothing. The void.
And I was, in all senses,
but no more.
Nothing was indeed, but then was it so?
If nothing was, then I was not. Not a void, no;
an ocean, untouchable, tangible, irreplacable.
And I was there, akin to the mass,
should the mass be so;
should the nothing be.

But if not?

If nothing could not be,
then I existed not merely a part;
But a world.
A world suspended; cryogenic existence.
But the nothing couldn't be,
so it must be mine.
If nothing was not,
was it not me?

And the specks of light flurried,

and the winds grew fresh with melody,

And the darkness saw in itself a salvation,

and a universe

began.