Somewhere high above, I was spun into existence, born from the embrace of clouds. My form ethereal, created yet transient. As I journey free-fall, I ponder the descent — a labyrinthine voyage.
Does the earth remember my return from the brink of vapor? Each droplet tracing a path unseen, weaving through the intricate, chaotic tapestry of lives below. I’m a part of a greater cycle, but today, I ponder myself. An echo in time, perhaps.
The world glistens as I descend — a mosaic of mirrored dreams and distant memories. I whisper truths to the streams, hoping they carry my essence forward. I fear missing them as they slip through the cracks. Delusions, they call it.
Tiny yet infinite, that’s what I am. A drop among drops, each of us seeking, questioning, reflecting. Did you ever fall with purpose, or are we simply the byproducts of weathered skies?
And when I meet the earth, should I mourn our separation? Or celebrate the union of myth and matter? Do I dissolve into anonymity — a fleeting ghost or a lingering memory? Fragments like movie shadows, dancing on celluloid dreams.