I can hide in the attic or drift in the wind, I’m soft as a whisper but born from heat. I vanish with water, yet I tell of fire’s past. What am I?

I’m born when you remove me. I’m lost when you add me. I’m shared without leaving. I’m stolen without taking. Name me, and I vanish.

I’m a small burst of happiness, often sold by the piece; A rebel of reason that hurts waistlines and teeth. I vanish too swiftly, though long I’m pursued, A wrapper of promise, temptation renewed.

Without my first, I'm right behind The above word wouldn't be allowed by my first three letters here I'm plain and boring, I might be on your screen and you probably haven't noticed

Flakes fall Settled dust Gone with the wind Not of a season, but of a seasoned person