Mr. Darcy, you make me blush

You say that I am nothing, not more than a globule of particles, and that one day this grouping will dissipate, and I will fall apart to nothing

I fancy myself a moment, with eyes tight to better my sense of nothing, as a something without hands, or even the words with which I dance, a sort of something without anything, and I wonder where I might go as a thought alone

You say it is amusing, that should I ever lose myself, I would fret over where to go, and not something of more consequence. You say, anyway, that I will never be a thought alone

I smile, that you imagine me troubled, suppose me useless in the case of my being nothing, and take comfort in your protective nature, then consider what might be of more consequence to you than where, but do not inquire still. Instead, I ask if you would humor me, "Pray, tell me where I might go, should you ever be some sort of nothing, so that perhaps I may meet you there?"

You claim it unlikely, waving your open palm across the sky, with grace in place of evidence, that you will ever be a thought alone, "my where is never still, therefore an answer set in words is something very much impossible"

"It is better this way, " I manage to catch my own smile without your taking notice, "as an answer set in words entails far less labour than that in stone, " and content with my own wit, ask for a second time, so as to be sure your focus has not slipped, "where?"

This second inquiry brings to you such a wave of delight, as I suspect your intentions were to raise anticipation, and perhaps leave me curious as to your mysteries, that your face, your mouth so wide as to show every tooth, betrays the romance in your eyes.

When I return your smile, you take my hand,

"You are my where, and as I will always be, even as a sort of bodiless nothing, by your side, you will never be a thought alone"