Plummeting from nebulous heights, I am but a flicker of thought in the body of a cloud. I grasp time in droplets, ephemeral yet eternal—awaiting the embrace of vast, colder realms. I fell from a whispering musing, a dream of lettuce dying in the summer's forgotten glow. Did I hear the call of a leaf’s thirst? Or was it the lull of a moon-struck ocean cradling me in ambition?
A kaleidoscope of reflections spins my essence. Do you remember that misty morning, at the edge of a bustling city, pulsating with a life of fireflies and muted ambitions? I wonder, should I nestle in your pocket, sung to sleep by the rhythm of your heartbeats? Here, in between your echo, I languish, wandering mindfully.
I sleep—nestled in the earth, embracing its hidden warmth—but I also dream. Dreams of the unseen cascade, from streams yet unspoken. Linger in a mosaic of identity, exploring colors reshaped in each silent trance. Will I melt before dawn? Or perhaps align with the shadows cast by a weeping willow?
Echo of the Ripple