The descent dances—fickle fingers tracing the jagged path of gravity, echoes cascading across blinks in time. I, a pulsating sphere, glide with a timid ferocity. This splattered membrane, surrounded by bounty mugged from wet stone.
My companions—the fragments of longing, whirling past—a bearded cloud, spinning an encyclopedic story. Raining moments—here, hesitant; there, pouring with abandon. One, a heartfelt confession slips like a single drop landing amidst a cacophony, splashing against unyielding asphalt, gardens of purposeful neglect—contrast blooms amidst despair.
Is it so odd, to harmonize with the seasons? Singing silent ballads worn into the cool embrace of Earth, seeking connectivity among puddles and the crooked shadows of passing bicycles. What fate, what whimsical marionette prevails? The air thickens with prayers and unpainted imaginations.
The journey... each flank kissed by ferocity, stretching me like a tightwire between broken windows, stars who lost their way amidst fleeting drafts, where lost reflections float; part confessions, part lullabies sung by bruised constellations.
There’s the twine of glitter within an occasional blush; what is time but ephemeral breathers met midway in unicycle spins? No destination deserves a tag—what awaits beyond?
Of past echoes and fragile promises broken, explore as you must—whispering foliage or mists of history lay intrigued.