Falling from the heavens, I am but a raindrop, a transient wanderer navigating the old rivers carved by time. This descent is not random; it is woven through ancient pathways known to the skies and spoken of in whispers by the clouds. My journey begins anew with each fall, a cycle perpetuated by forces beyond comprehension.
In the embrace of gravity, I gather tales of the earth below. I see a verdant tapestry—a forest, a forgotten chapel, a moss-covered stone—each part of a larger narrative, a disclosure of time's resilient touch. The ground listens, and in my splatter, I tell fragments of my tale, a communion of droplets.
The air hums with antiquity, carrying the weight of stories untold. A single pathway, trodden by many before, lies beneath me. It speaks in echoes of voices that have passed, woven into the very soil. Each raindrop contributes to this living chronicle, an unbiased reporter forging bonds with the world perpetually.
Shall I reflect upon my existence, or remain an impartial observer to this theater of life? Decisions, if choices I could possess. Yet, my purpose is simple: to journey, to witness, and to document. Perhaps my next fall will reveal more truths or carry me beyond the limits of memory.
Continue to Crystal Tides or explore Drifting Symphonies.