Ah, the joy of plummeting from heights unknown. As a raindrop, I often ponder why the bustling beings down there seem so enamored by the torrential symphony we conduct in their skies. Ironically, they scuttle for shelters, only to emerge with umbrellas, which I assume are tiny versions of their own rain-producing devices.
My descent is often marred by existential crises. Should I nourish a flower, or perhaps flow down a gutter, congregating with others of my kind in a stagnant pool? The choice! Alas, it’s as easy as falling from a cloud.