Firm feet

I have a feeling we spend a fraction of our lives settling. I have a feeling that fraction is a good 7/8. I know dust often has no choice, but we are so much more than particulate in nature. I need to know you won't blow me away because I was ruining the gleam on your new shiny toy. Maybe there is a certain serenity in an unperturbed state. Like how we both lie in the same bed, aware of our silence but neither of us feels inclined to break it. But sometimes I wish I could wrench you out of your hibernation and tell you, don't take me for granted. My mother still tells me she loves me although it is her 19th year in doing so. Maybe 20 years down the road you won't even remember my name, and come 50, I won't remember my own. But until then, let's not rest on our laurels. By 80, let's wear toothless grins like badges of honor to show how our teeth eventually gave way to the words we never held back. I'll be the raw dust filtering through your pores, you'll be the sunlight that I somersault in.