The dust has accumulated for so long. It has now merged with the surface of object beneath it. It is no longer these fluffy, weightless particles that reflect in the sun. It has become this gummy substance, a coating of filth that requires great strength to be removed. It smears during attempts to eliminate it; fighting to remain in its claimed place. The dust becomes angry, and you know it. You know the dust will return, no matter what you do. The power the dust cannot be defeated. It has control over you, your life and your belongings. It is a constant chore that you are unable to escape. Appropriate amounts of attention must persistently be granted to the dust. It is needy, annoying and frustrating. The dust has managed to coerce itself upon you. This realization irritates you, and you wonder how the dust can so easily disregard your lack of will and consent for this relationship. The fury builds up in you. You don’t want to believe it, you don’t want to let the dust win, but you soon understand that you don’t have an option. You must accept the dust, welcome it, enjoy it, love it or constantly live in battle, trying to conquer its supremacy.

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