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A little speck of dust in a large vacuum bag. Does it have any significance? Did it come from a sweater, the carpet, a couch, or a Kleenex? Is it white, black, brown, red, or gray? Is it a cottonous fiber, polyester, acrylic, or a blend? All of these questions encompass the confusion of its existence. Is it meant to be there; in that bag? Awaiting its trip to the trash and then the graveyard of waste on the hill? I am that speck of dust. I don’t know where I’ve come from, where I am, how I got here, or where I’m going. I’m just here, feeling helpless against the tide of life that has thrown me out past the rip current. I’m not sure of myself. How can I be sure of others intentions? How am I supposed to do this? A lot of questions and not enough answers. Here comes the next wave. Guess I’ll hold me breath and wait for the next wave to come.
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