Between Falling and Rising

Rain forgets itself midair, each drop dissolves into vapor— a thousand stories ascending.

The world softens at its edges, folds into gray and silver silk. Nothing is quite solid here, nothing entirely sky.

I stand where the boundary blurs, where wet becomes light, where earth exhales toward clouds. Even my shadow wavers.

In this moment, there is no falling, no arriving. Only the tender dissolve, the breath held between what was and what might be.