The Universe is Full of Dust
This universe is full of dust.
Inevitable; invasive; penetrative.
“How many know the truth? How few care?” I asked my father once, eons ago.
“Is their noble lie not sweeter than this careless truth?” he answered.
But there is no one left to lie.
All the houses are empty, and the cars don’t move.
I haven’t heard a laugh in years.
You too will succumb, one day, as I have.
Breathe deep, then, of the dust: the end of all things.
And close your eyes forever.
For the air you breathe is me.
The universe never even heard my name.