One may consider its existence insignificant, sometimes even meaningless; yet it is one that keeps a compulsive housewife up all night. In great magnitude, it is a cloud of looming death, one that leaves asthmatic lungs gasping for its very last breath.
Barely visible to the naked eye it dances in the air, with its movements choreographed even by the slightest of wind. On an idle morning, under the sunlight we may catch a glimpse of its granite nothingness, floating as if with carefree lightness, and gradually cascading to a forgotten surface where lies a bed of its own familiar shade of grey. If we reach out to grasp it, almost deceived by its tangibility, it appears to frantically repel from our reach and drift away in mid air.
Its embodiment is made out of a simple structure. Scrutinizing its bleak form under a microscope, its grey anatomy is made out of a colloid suspension of fine solid particles. With a knack for being an occupational hazard, it fleets in our air and congests the path of sunlight. It dwells on forsaken surfaces that we frown upon — by no means is it welcomed with open doors. Yet, its airborne persistence resonates an underlying question — where does it come from?
There is not one singular bloodline to its entity, it is brought into the world by different organisms and designed matter; therefore it would be considered to have a vast ancestral tree. We shed tens of thousands of dead epidermis skin cells as the clock ticks by. The wind that brushes against our blossoming flowers disperses pollen and soil particles into the air. The welcome carpet that we rub the soles our shoes against releases microscopic fibers. We are organic matter, and as a part of us decay and emancipate from our core bodies, we become part of its evolutionary existence. Alas, as we blow against a delicate coat of greyness off a dusty bookshelf, we may actually be whispering a farewell to the deadness of our very own being.
As I look out the window with the sun rays beaming across the bedroom, the dust continues to dance and flicker in the limelight. Perhaps the seemingly most insignificant things in life are the deadliest of all.