forgot to care , forgot to feel , and everything too late , he waited for the end .
Counting the cost of the fateful day he crossed the road and trying not to remember what he couldn ’ t forget , the man wondered what it had all been for . The man questioned the dust . “ Why me ?”
The dust hesitated to respond , then after some consideration said , ‘ Because you were helpless and scared . You fell to loving me , when you should have loved the rain .’
The man shook his head , trying to comprehend , trying to reason . No longer the smooth stabilising force it had been , the dust ’ s voice had become jagged and coarse . “ You ’ re a fool ,” it chided . “ A waste .”
One night , blacker than most , a torrid rain beat at the man ’ s door , hammering at the glass panel set within it . Someone knocked at the door . The dust coiled , grasping the man ’ s heart . Unsure if the fear was the dust ’ s or his own , the man turned downed the tv volume and waited . Another knock rattled the door , this time more perceptible , more urgent . The dust squeezed the man ’ s innards . Outside , the sound of retreating footsteps . The visitor was leaving .
The dust pressed the man down in his chair , holding him fast so he couldn ’ t move . Something other than dust stirred inside the man , perhaps the thought of the rain , something other than the dry monotony of the dust . The man would make a choice that night . He needed the rain . He needed whatever was on the other side of the door more than anything else in the entire world .
Pushing against the dust , the man staggered to his feet and dragged his pained body to the door . The dust
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