Rewritten, remembered, rethought.
Expanded and contextualised.
Why is it we chose to remember some things more than others?
Again, I have written this post twice now.
3 seems to be the lucky number.
Re-invent. I shall re-invent it.
I want to look back at dust. Look back at this years relationship with this material. This existence.
The air in which we breath.
Dust particles, particles of humanness. Mere specks in the whole planetary system. Specks?
No. No, we are smaller than specks, for each speck consists of thousands of molecules. One speck of dust is in essence our entire human race.
So I ask, what and who are we? Have I been exploring our infinite existence through this dust process?
Where do we belong?
A dustpan worth of dust is a world in itself.
Where does that leave us, me? I am, dust.
I am, a tiny molecule of dust.
When I die, you will breath, me, in and out.
I will float, existing, in a world full of dust. Made of dust.
Dust cannot be extinguished. Just removed from a solitary state that is visible to our naked eye.
Dust, I am.
