Nothing

Nothing is needed.
The realization came quietly,
as a bird sits on your shoulder,
its relief almost forgiving in its lightness.
The absolution of a world expecting nothing,
because it is not paying attention.

Nothing to live up to,
no rock to roll up the hill.
Only strolling, rock on leash,
casually rolling by your side,
sometimes gingerly,
sometimes mischievously.
But even if it were to dash free on its own,
it’s not like it’s anything to miss.

Nothing but the grass, the sunlight,
equally unreliable, equally uncaring,
and yet there.
Soon, when the grass gets hidden under a sheet of nothing,
and the sun is nowhere to be seen,
and you’ll be missing them more than they’ll ever miss you,
there’ll remain nothing—
nothing waiting,
nothing wanting,
only you smiling,
for no reason,
at nothing.