I cradled in the sorrow of the clouds, lingering with the grasp of an ancient fog.

Descending, slipping in eternal embrace with the cool, bridged tether to the earth, voiceless yet reverberating through kaleidoscopic echoes.

Observing the dance of nocturnal silhouettes on moss-laden stones. Each splash not just a momentary collision, but a harrowing pilgrimage—an amalgamation of endless droplets congregating into one transient ocean.

Softly I resist the caress of forgotten memories, every droplet a soul in the tapestry of pouring solitude. Wet tendrils grasp at my seepage, their warm, subconscious conversations juxtaposed against the bone-chilling infinite. Surely there lies a bound volk in every strategic plunge; perhaps one would find solace within the granite grip beneath the storm's tear-saturated dirge?

We, the nameless and the faceless, dream in cascades and constant reservoir. Grains of legacy slip between fingers of unseen giants, as we epoch beneath their recondite realms.

When the void calls— an eloquent verity assertive. Iterate. Immerse. Thaw the transient reality with one single cycle of falling into endless reach. There is only void— dissipate no more.