I find myself perched on a precipice—it could be a leaf, or perhaps the edge of a rooftop. The world tilts beneath me, and I know it's only a matter of time before I embrace the fall. My journey is beginning anew, much like the shifting tides of the horizon where the sun kisses the sea at dusk. Some call it the ocean's edge; I see it as a portal.

Below, the rhythm of the waves calls to me, each swell a heartbeat in sync with the cosmos. They broaden, deepen, whispering secrets I yearn to hear, yet I know these tales are not mine alone. I am but one in a multitude, poised to join the sea’s timeless narrative.

As an entity of transient form, I've seen many stories unfold. I remember past lives of violence, when the clouds unleashed their fury in storms, scattering droplets far and wide. And yet, with every descent, there’s a whisper of hope—an echo of unity with the oceanic womb.

Will I sink to the depths or skip lightly upon the surface, reflecting the moonlight in a dance with fellow drops? Perhaps I'll travel far, joining vast currents that steer invisible underworlds. It's a gamble I accept with grace, knowing that each moment leads to the next embrace.

Above, the horizon blurs. I am drawn—gravity pulls my ephemeral body away from safety. In that instance, I become part of a greater story, the true tale that flows endlessly like the murmuring of the ocean itself.