Dear Nothing

All day I think about nothing. And all day, nothing thinks about me. I sit and I stare, Or I pace everywhere, Looking for something to seek. I am meek, I feel weak, I find it hard to stand on my feet. But when I sit about, I stir and shout; And fly up out of my seat. What is it that I’m meant to find my dear nothing? What is that lies beneath? Is there something there? Because I could swear, I’ve caught you starting back.