Leaving by Caitlin Barnhart

My fingerprints are almost gone. I am going too. Cooling soot covers the last of me, warming back up to my body heat. Small boys run ahead to clear the way, I think they get paid well. I hope so. I wish the boys hope for me too, but that would just be asking too much.

Dust is home. Home is here, under the people. We are not them, it is not my home with them. When I am covered with their fuel they do not see, I am too far away. When I am covered with debris they do not hear, I am too deep.

My fingerprints are fully gone now. I am no longer me. They are them, I am dust.

© 2012 Caitlin Barnhart

Caitlin has lived in Maine for most of her life, and has been writing for about as long. Despite having a few passionate interests, her likes and dislikes are always in flux.

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