It settles like the dust that breathes many tales. Pull the rug out from under annd the truth shall reveal itself. Each story, filled with many words, smiles, and tears. It never quite blows like we anticipate. In the end, it's the promise and anticpation that envleops our souls with the sound of a buzz, as it glimmers to beams of light. Then, it simply becomes but a mere whisper. It's a faint breath that is hardly recognizable. With the broom comes the eraser. Because like the dust, it'll just sit there if nothing is to be done. But, sometimes we have to stand helpless as the dust is swept away, leaving us to hear the buzz again, though we stand helpless and the light fades away to a dark silence.