Ah, behold the splattered symphony as I plummet from heights untold. To think I was once part of that forsaken cloud, contemplating existence and caramel macchiatos.
Flicker, flicker, like the uncertain path of fate.
Each fall is an existential crisis, a descent that invites irony. Gather 'round, friends of the puddle, and hear the tale of my journey. The ground is but a canvas for the misadventures of droplets.
I land softly upon the aloof asphalt, wondering if today I would join the joke of a spider's web or stick to the tires of audacious cyclists. There’s humor in being part of a river that journeys to a beverage container, isn’t there? What a destination!
Consider the absurdity of choice, as we droplets drift. Navigate these mysteries and flicker like the scintillant stars of the earth's sorrow. Together we can ponder why puddles never truly dry, only evaporate temporarily, and/or perhaps consider fleeting zen moments within the deluge.