When the sun kissed me loose, I thought I’d be different—falling straight down, no directions, no limits, only the pursuit of earth.

As I drift through the sky bound to my fate, I hear whispers from other droplets, weaving itself into a tapestry of tales unfinished. Some boast of heights unseen, others bemoan their dousing of clouds too soon.

“We share the sky’s canvas,” one murmurs, “but our stories are etched differently, drop by drop.”

My path is steady, yet the world below calls with an allure unknown. Will I find a lake, a puddle, or the thirst of a sleeping tree? My journey writes itself, uncasting the strings of time in the great celestial stage where each falls like an ink blot to an unfinished page.