The day was cold and gloomy. As I looked out my window, my mind began to wander. I lay my eyes on the clouds, so I lay eyes on myself. What probably was merely the slight reflection of the window made me start to wonder, what if I were a cloud.
Would I drift away by the strong wind who doesn’t care about my opinion, the wind who does not care for my well-being, only pushing me without my consent? I wonder if, even if I may not realize, the wind is doing this for me, was it pushing me to places I would never dare to go by myself, making me face my biggest fears and learn to overcome them.
Maybe being a cloud would mean floating without a care, watching the world below as it unfolds in chaos and beauty. I’d see forests sway in the breeze, rivers snake through valleys, and cities pulse with life. Would I feel detached from it all, or would I yearn to be part of the earth’s rhythm again?
Perhaps I would envy the stillness of mountains or the grounded certainty of trees. Yet, as a cloud, I’d carry the weight of the rain within me, knowing that one day, I’d have to let go. Would the release be painful or freeing?
And what about storms? Would I fear the dark skies and violent winds, or would I embrace the turbulence, knowing it was just a phase? Maybe storms would teach me that even chaos has a true purpose, that destruction often paves the way for true growth.
I wondered if being a cloud meant endless freedom or a fleeting existence. Either way, I couldn’t help but think that, like clouds, we all leave our mark in ways we might never ever fully understand.