I see the dust lining the edge of this monitor and remember the cause (mostly) of the dead skin cells that are shed every day. Ah, that science class so very long ago.
Could it be that memories are like dust we leave behind?
Could the phrase, “they left in a cloud of dust” mean more that what is kicked up from the dirt road as someone hurriedly leaves our presence? Well, my presence, at least. The dust is still there, lingering, drifting, waiting for the “dust to settle.”
The dust we leave behind.
Sunbeams that fill the dimly lit room, watching the floating collisions in space, drifting in and out of sight. In and out of memory. Those thoughts - those words that hang in the air. Drift into the sunlight. Drift into the foreground of remembrances.
Drift as dust we leave behind.
Is it all so much madness that we polish and clean, wash and sanitize, vacuum and wipe, all to remove the reminders – that dust – that returns to tease, to torment, to torture?
Time now to snap the rag. Release the dust to the wind. Empty the vacuum bag. The vain effort knowing that the dust returns again someday – maybe today – the cycle never ends.
To remove the dust we leave behind.
Linked to Poets and Storytellers United, Friday Writings #37: Stay Happy and Alive