I am but a drop, tiny, ephemeral, yet filled with tales. They call it "mistake" when I stumble onto dry earth, yet the truth is I wander to sprout life anew.
I cascade from heights, unbidden, shaping forms, carving truth in liquid clarity. Perception alters upon descent; clarity becomes muddied in expectation of my halting.
Lessons come like gentle storms, washing over the barren truths. I ponder: fear of the unknown is the father of regret, but embracing the fall births creation.
Mistake. The world labels it, binding me to the memory of splash and echo. Yet I see it as opportunity—a misstep towards destiny, a dance with the ephemeral.
Listen, dear traveler. Each drop cradles stories of the unplanned. Hold them with care and they may whisper secrets of purpose amidst chaos.
Dive Deeper | Surface Float