In the expanse where earth meets dream, they drift—
translucent orbs, echoing soft stories of solitude.
Are they but reflections of ourselves—floating, yearning,
and but shadows in the light playing hide-and-seek?
The wind caresses their surface, sending ripples in unheard
melodies, as if orchestrating a symphony only they can hear.
Each reverberation, each sigh, a whisper from the deep that
echoes in the empty room of our minds.
We often search the skies for answers, for solace in
chaos, unaware that these bubbles carry our dreams
stitched into their fragile skins. Do they understand
the weight of our hopes as they rise and fall?