Dusty Memories

I blow away the dust to look.
There it is, glowing.
As clear as the day it formed.
The sky, the grass and the laughter.
I want to go back. It is impossible.
Do I really want to go back? No no!
Because I know what followed. The pain.
That is it. The pain. The dust.
I blow the dust away. It tickles.
My nostrils flare and achhoo.
The dust will always affect me.
The pain will always remain.
And then I think... and laugh.
It is a silly, snotty sneeze.