Sand and Dust (or poems about being a mess, parts 1 & 2)

Part 1 (Sand)

And away that went, on a breeze it seems, as it came. And all the better it be gone, really... though it is hard to be easily dismissed and forgotten. And as time does with all things, this thing will become more like a dream, or nightmare, and my utter dismay at having been nothing there, at... at.. at being unnecessary and in the end just some... girl. Just a thing. A mistake. As it was. Well, it will bother me less. This is life, after all. What a beautiful, horrible, wonderfully fucked up messy ordeal.

Answers are like sand - you grab at them and for a moment you think you have them, but they slip through your fingers. They don't belong to you.

Part 2 (Dust)

And she blew away as dust on the wind, so alike they are. From something more whole, solid, but made up of small, tiny parts and so easy to crumble. So easily carried off. So pretty to watch fly away and so simply and utterly forgotten once gone.

The best she can hope to be now is an annoyance, as dust into someone's eye. Better than being forgot, isn't it?