Why is there something when it could be nothing?
Why is there air when it could be void?
Why is there flesh when it could be aether?
Why light instead of darkness,
Sound instead of silence,
Touch instead of numbness?
I don’t know. It might be that
There’s no reason at all
And it’s all a happy accident,
A cosmic dice cast so many times
That even the smallest probability
Becomes certainty instead.
Or it might be even foolish
To try to consider mathematics
As the reasoning for reason.
There’s just no way to answer those whys.
But I’m happy that is, without, despite a reason.
Becomes the ‘something’ allows you to exist,
And all the other senses let me feel you.
And oh, something even better than this –
It allows me to exist, allows me to feel,
And gives me a choice whether it will be
You, or someone else, or nothing at all.
For I, at least, am here.