Back to Nothing Again

I watched the light bend thin against the wall,

Heard my own echo hesitate and fall,

The air was thick with things I couldn’t name,

A quiet room, but nothing stayed the same.

A silhouette where I was meant to stand,

The dust remembers better than I can.

If every spark was borrowed from the end,

Then maybe ash is where we always tend.

When it all comes back to nothing again,

Not erased — just thinned beneath the skin,

In the hollow where the pulse once rang,

We rise, we fade, we loop the same refrain.

Back to nothing again.

No thunder cracked, no heavens split in two,

Just small collapses no one ever knew,

A breath held long enough to feel it break,

A steady hand that didn’t try to shake.

No villain crowned, no martyr left to blame,

Just matter cooling down without a name.

If endings bloom inside the start,

Then loss was written from the heart.

When it all comes back to nothing again,

Not destroyed — just shed like worn-out skin,

In the silence after fire sang,

We climb the dark we understand.

Back to nothing again.

No rage.

No plea.

No grand design watching me.

Just weight

and time

folding space into a line.

If this is all it ever meant —

A borrowed spark, a slow descent —

Then let it end the way it began:

Quiet.

When it all comes back to nothing again,

We don’t resist, we don’t pretend,

In the void where fear once sprang,

We stand, we dim, we understand.

Back to nothing again.

No final bell.

No shattered sky.

Just something small

learning how to die.