Among the vast assembly of minuscule rivulets and sprawling puddles, I - a humble molecule of H2O - ponder. Lost in the eternity of downpour, yet caught in the anomaly of unyielding gravity. Oh, how my hearts sing, or rather, how they would sing if echoes weren't forever tarnished by the misconception of harmonious truth.
"The sky has whispered dreams of landfalls and epiphanies, yet all we do is fall and fumble, the cycle's cruel jest."
The mist claims enlightenment, yet its origin is but a tear from the clouds.
In the deluge, every droplet believes itself a prophet, but in truth, chaos is its only message.
Searching for tributaries, I find only this: forged illusions in the ripples of the past.