Unraveling

The empty room was filled with perfect nothing;

it sat undisturbed in silent darkness.

Once every day she would go to it,

admire it,

rearrange it,

clean it,

then turn off the light and leave it.

She never sat with it.

One day there was a string hanging from the ceiling-

She pretended not to notice.

It became a fixture, growing longer;

she patiently rearranged the nothing around it.

The string eventually got so long that nothing else could fit around it;

the perfection started bleeding.

So finally she acknowledged it's imperfect intrusion-

And pulled it-

And the ceiling came down around her.