Brush It Off , Kick It To The Side And Walk Away

A dust mote swirls lazily in the air.
A mouth opens.
Words pour out and push the dust mote around.
It lands on my shoulder.
It irritates me.
Might even anger me.
I open my mouth.
More words pour out.
Off the dust mote goes.
Swirling around and around, before landing on my shoulder again.
I'm annoyed.
But then I shrug and brush it off.
It falls to the ground.
I kick it out of my way and move on.
Moving on, moving on.
It is only dust.
It is nothing.
I will not allow it to turn into rock.

It is nothing.