Here I hang, suspended—ready to plunge. The world whispers with frail quivers, held tight between breaths, waiting for the call. Light and shadow entwined; it feels like telling a secret to the wind, and I am a fleeting promise.
Electricity hums, a distant pulsing in the aquifer, beneath the sun’s glassy eye. With each drop’s deduction: soil softened, temperature ticking, I align with the rhythm under the sterile canvas of sky.
Falling, I taste the salt of the sea architected in children's splashes, a consolidation across swing sets and dirty puddles, sharing toxic tales of transient glee. When I touch the earth, surrender becomes intimacy, merging with the thumping heart of atoms beneath.
Hence, I eclipse this storm of reverie—Warping through the crevices of one lonely leaf, ebbing into nothingness, for I embody the cycle frayed by hours unnoticed.
Ever shall I journey, a spritely wraith of wetness; even oblivion shimmers, baked glow from electric skies, until thunder corralled me in frantic howls towards visceral tangents.