Greeted by thunderous applause from above and a calculated descent, I, the anonymous and humble raindrop, have gone where none articulate nor whisper: curtain calls masked as clouds unveil showbiz to the droplets’ world. It is in the sky where one's career splashes into existence and evaporates without a prospect of encore.
Peer to the riveting underdomain, the concrete jungle dared to dress in raindrop attire — all lights and sirens pretending droplets weren’t trickling past measured. Oh, how we laughed, an audience acutely aware of monotony — the steel chimera, an unsolved puzzle our downstream simpleton siblings called “city”.
But inside the enigmatic gusts of wind, what noble aspirations drive the puddle to grow larger at the edge? Might it believe to be the trickling Prometheus of asphalt? Alas, the same puddle’s reflection mocks this philosopher with reflections a toddler would question; no answers, only ripples mocking, daring to define anomalies unseen.