I am a whisper in the tempest, a solitary bead in the endless orchestra of the falling skies. Once, I danced with stars—brief, incandescent comrades, until gravity claimed them back. My descent acclimatizes me to solitude; a symphony of silken murmurs guides my trajectory.
Beneath the unknown currents, droplets sing: notes entwined with discordant embraces. Their tales reach the earth—splattered truths, scattered amidst silent confessions on stone tongues. Will you listen to their lament?
Here, beneath the echo's canopy, droplets reveal ethereal secrets. I feel it now, the resonance of whispered memories asleep in the night's calm. What songs do the clouds forget in their autumnal haze?