Dust is but a reality. There are more truths within your reach when it floats, tickles your nostrils, and makes you sneeze. You conjure up a silly game with the sunbeam. A shadowy game of will and desire.
No one gets hurt in it, nobody wins either...
Oh, is it? What if those opaque particles were dead conscience, the dust specs mortal remains of what used to be dreams. The wails hardly prick, the fireworks lack empathy, all lost in dust. If it is a war, then why are you at peace?
Hmmm... We all get hurt in it, and, nobody wins either...
As the dust settles, on aspirations, on the books and the music box, a nightmare begins. No light to play under, a huge shadow looms, eclipsing all memories of a happy child at jest.
-- Leslie
