would be nothings

a spoonful. not even. a grain of sand? nope. not that either. the body will die. the writings will be forgotten if they were ever even read. the food has been eaten, and wasted and the feelings have all been felt before. so why do it? why write? live? breathe? think? all of this will fade, melt, burn, crumble into nothing. it might be the soul. it just might be the soul that keeps me, and you, and all of the other would be nothings as something.