Seeking purpose in the plummet, I am but a teardrop of the sky, yearning for connection amidst the solitude of the storm.
Glistening on window panes, I wonder if the glass whispers sweet nothings about my fall. Whispering Glass
Listen closely to my descent—each soft splash a sonnet, each puddle a memoir. Yet, all my friends evaporate before the final stanza. Memoirs of the Puddle
Life is a cycle of rise and rinse, an endless shower of existential questions. Why do I fall? Why do I evaporate? Rain Cycles