Encoded within a whisper, I tumble from the swollen-gray sky. I am but a solitary drop, a note that begins as vapor and becomes percussion with gravity's call.
A symphony steps below—a web of rumble, light, and shadow—conducted by invisible hands. I meet it without hesitation, melding into rhythmic knots that glide through the corridor of warmth only to disperse upon landing. What escapes at impact beneath collides with dreams, tangling then echoing within veins of flow.
I journey soundward, expand upon the sonic river road. Instruments of entropy, voices of life I peer through their displaying galleries as I pass intangible through antiquated bores of indulgence.
A traveler among travelers, I begin to forget the moment I first heard existence and found myself pondering. But I remember the ripple of introspection.
Begat upon by other chords suspended—I, melodic pulse—is this merely life in prestidigitation’s climax?
I look to oscillate endlessly. As does water.