> As a child, I played with marbles alongside friends, not knowing the actual game. They were merely small, shiny, unbreakable glass spheres that I'd gleefully toss down the stairs, watching them bounce from step to step. No matter how often I descended to retrieve them, climbing back up each time, my enthusiasm never waned.

>

> Somewhere along the road, as I grew, I lost my marbles...

>

> With my marbles gone, the drive to ascend once more, to try again, also vanished. It never occurred to me that missing marbles could be significant. Perhaps I believed they held no value in the grand scheme, or maybe I noticed that no one else cherished marbles beyond a certain age. Marbles, it seemed, were relics of a bygone era, their end marked by the passage of time.

>

> Yet, as life unfolded into adolescence, I encountered older children engaged in a game of marbles. This was not the innocent play of my younger years but a fierce competition where the victor claimed the loser's marbles. The game required skill, a precise throw to eject the opponent's marbles from a designated circle. It appeared that marbles had worth after all, coveted prizes in a battle of precision.

>

> The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

>

> I tried playing their game, but ultimately, I lost my marbles once again...

>

> For a long while afterward, marbles disappeared from my life. Then, one day, by change I stumbled onto my old toys, I rediscovered my marbles in a box. Holding them in my hand, I marveled at the intricate designs within—like flowing lava trapped in glass—and wondered at their creation. I just held them close to my eye to find how they dont have any holes when their creator put that little design inside the glass ball, After a fruitless search for answers, I carefully stored them away.

>

> The simple joy of playing with marbles, of retrieving them time and again, faded into the recesses of memory. Life's complexities multiplied, scattering my focus in countless directions, and the simplicity of marbles was forgotten. Yet, perhaps, marbles held importance.

>

> Now, as rain pours heavily outside, dark, invisible droplets cascade from the sky. If I tilt my head and squint, they resemble marbles—millions of tiny, soft spheres tumbling down. It seems I haven't truly lost all my marbles; perhaps there were never marbles at all, just raindrops.

>

> — Halar Bikram Memories of Death Year 415 of Burning