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We are all sent flying in the wind the breeze the wind the breeze. Some find it calm (a breeze), and wonder why the rest of us scream. They open up their umbrellas (and some of them don't need) and they're satisfied and happy.

Others (worship the wind) are enraptured, their bodies turned to wonder as they feel their god in every nook and cranny of their soul and body. I don't understand them, and I watch them float into my tongue, unaware. But at least they're happy, I'm truly glad they're happy.

And there's ones who grew out wings, they're hard to see, but there's a few of them and they fly away from me and my fellow clouds, grown so strong they oppose the direction of the wind. I'm proud of them.

There's ones who fall apart, collapse, their bodies have gone limp but not wondrous. They just ragdoll, fall, and succumb to gravity. They don't succumb to the wind, though, they fall straight down. It's like they've given up, but there's a sense of defiance despite it (do they know what they are doing?), defy the wind (but don't defy gravity? what gives?), I don't know if they are conscious but I hope they survive their fall.

And as for me and my fellow clouds… we fly along with the spirals, we spiral while knowing that someday we'll turn into tear drops, we spiral in the knowledge that death will come soon. And that's alright, because we'll rise again, our liquid forms will evaporate and we'll find ourselves again, in the sky, with these people we don't know, and the wind and breeze and spiralling– just listen, it's all alright! It's all okay! My fellow clouds are in peace, they just float, they just fly, they just hang in the sky and I'm the only one who cries out, "When did I grow these pitch-black eyes and why is there thunder, spitting from my mouth? I don't spit it voluntarily, and I wasn't supposed to have a mouth. Was not supposed to have a tongue (the tongue is thunder, spit is thunder, form is fluid, all is fluid), why is there thunder all around me, and how did it find its way into my thoughts as well?"

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What is going on?!

So many humans worship us, and they seem to stare at my grandeur, at my body, they worship both me and the wind (a breeze, so calm and kind). They worship the storm (and some deny that it's ferocious) and they stare in awe, they stare in awe at my form which I've formed pure confusion about, why am I like this? What is going on? Can you see my eyes, and tongue (or spit?), what is my body? What are my body parts? How dare you stare? But I don't really care (don’t I?). Do I really care (do I?)? You just want to know the weather, that's not rude (or, well… sometimes it is, you can either be less rude about it or you can stop all meteorology). I understand why you do what you do. I don’t always have to like it, though sometimes I stare back at you in wonder, stare at the things you do (so rudely) in wonder as well. I know how to stare without being rude, so I suppose you can learn as well, and many of you have learned and I marvel at you the way you do at me. Many of you just, you just… some of you are turned to wonder, bodily and mentally and your spirits turned to wonder. My fluidity confuses me, but does it bring you awe? I think you find it beautiful, so you keep staring on. I am mesmerizing, I understand, and I know that I'm undefinable. But the fact that you want a form like mine (will you do anything to become a cloud?)…

I hope you survive it. And I hope you thrive.