Today, I fell. Not just into a puddle, but into the deeper existential crisis of being a raindrop. What's the point of it all?
Glistening like a forgotten jello in the sun, I wonder: Was it worth it to travel through the squishy clouds, just to end in a gutter?
Someone shouted 'Jawbreaker Gloves!' I think they were referring to candy? Whatever it was, I missed it. Is there a means of eventual ascent?
On fleeting winds, I drifted until curiosity outshined gravity. Lunch was had atop a leaf. Wouldn’t you think someone would offer me a drink for my services?
Ah, the glory of being a droplet. Ever the fleeting, known by few for precisely one blink of time, spilling secrets of the downpour.