The brown leaf crinkled like dust in my hand; swallowed whole in the wind. The pieces flew in multiple directions some filling in the clear sky; others blending in the dust. As if the pieces of leaves never existed at all. This makes me question my humanity. Do I exist? If I do how fragile am I? Or do some people live for a purpose and the rest are just crinkles of dust. So tell me do I have a purpose in this world?
Crinkled Like Dust
January 29, 2012