A thought fell down the back of the sofa,
Gathered grime, made friends with lost coins and fluff,
Was sat upon, repeatedly, almost
Forgot what it was, and gave up hope
Of ever being rediscovered. It
Became an unthought, a non-thought, a lost
And disillusioned thought, a thought that no-one
Remembered ever having thought. It even
Started doubting its existence, had a
Nervous breakdown, after which it learned to
Smile, be happy with its lot and consider
Those thoughts much less fortunate than itself.
It sat and did what thoughts do best: it thought.
It thought of what it was, and wondered if
It would ever get to see the light of
Day, as some thoughts do. Perhaps it was a
Bad thought? But then it thought that thoughts themselves
Cannot be bad; it didn’t have free will,
Had not brought itself into being, and
Couldn’t actually do anything bad.
The thought that fell down the back of the sofa
Was hoovered up in a spring-clean one day.
For a fraction of a second it thought
It saw a light, and then it ceased to be.