Silhouetted dots.

When the covering from an old packaged doll placed atop a pelmet, or a dusty book shelf begins to come off, that’s when truth really brings itself out. It may have taken it over two decades. But it comes out none the less. Over ripe. And worthless.
Dusty, filthy and ruined.
The little inconsequentials turn out to be so imperative that the damage has already been done.
The little doll wasn't played with, as it was meant to be, but left. For the world a show. A Clean package, cleaned for the eyes of curious strangers. Cleaned once, cleaned twice. And cleaned so many more times after. Until it was finally forgotten about. And the eyes of curious strangers were directed to more inconsequentials.
The lifeless doll, can't even suffocate. And that’s the unworthy truth of its existence, without really existing. She simply occupies a place in time. A place in inconsequential memories. And a place, right on top, of a pelmet in an old house whose residents have long since grown and changed. Not evolved however.
One look at that dusty box on top, and torrents of images sweep in. ‘How did that happen? How can so many thoughts and images be swept in, by an object forgotten in its place in time?’
Dust. Dust. Though not the kind that can be blown off. The hard stuck in the corners kind. One that won’t go off with some Kiwi and wipes. The kind that needs some paying attention to. A solution maybe, to just wipe out all the muck from existence. Some sort of acid solution to remove all traces of it.

Maybe today, the box will be un-pelmed and un-shelved. The breaking package might just be peeled off completely today. And inside, a fresh, new, untouched object. Still new, despite all its history. Maybe. Or maybe the job is too tough. The dust too much. Off goes the old packing. And in comes the new one. All of life's inconsequential imperatives, tucked away. Smoothly and skillfully. This time, on another shelf. Far from view. But still close enough to be a reminder of everything lost.