Descending through the embrace of twilight, I am but a single spark in the cascade—a sigh of the clouds.

The air is charged with anatomy of desires—a tapestry of moisture clings, eternal in its ephemeral dance.

We raindrops know gravity's tender grasp; whispered secrets descend with each plummet, cascading, merging stories like lovers lost in borrowed breaths.

I yearn for encounters—the parched faces of flowers, the eager thirst of streams greet me, holding fragments of eternity in organics and silence.

The earth below stretches—a canvas of brown and gold, awaiting the cascade of yearning droplets meeting with the rhythmic pulse of the universe.

Though I fall, I am not forsaken; my descent is a memory within hops of spider webs and roots in clandestine rendezvous.

Let it be known on silent wind, traces of dreams between drops, on moss staircases, murmured wishes taking form in leaves beneath fading crescent moonlights.

If you wish to follow the trail of yearning drops, visit Stream Whisper or Orchid's Desire.