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A small bright Cloud lingers through the sky, drifting effortlessly between here and there. It filled with nothing but joy and everlasting hope.

Through places, through time, attempting to share its overflow joy and happiness. Between the Cloud of all size, shapes, and colour, fitting in to find its home.

Ever trying, ever failed.

It heard of a place on top of a towering building, but the building wanted the Cloud to be a square shape. Or be round, or any form that they wish to.

It went to a place among the crowd, but the crowd wanted the Cloud to talk more and showed up sprinkled with the right amount of gold and fumes.

It went to a smarter place, but the Cloud knows neither of this nor that. Or black and blue, or how the world works.

Photo by C Dustin on Unsplash

Try over tries, failure after failure. Getting heavy on each attempt, accumulating rain on its journey. Till the Cloud can hold it no longer and burst of rain for days.

Days, months, years.

Maybe it should be more prominent. Or brighter. Or Blue. Is it because of its shape? Or where it starts? Perhaps it needs to create its own home. Maybe there is no home.

Be original and be yourself they said, but right when we are ourself, they ask us to be like others.

For every each drop of rain, a spark is born. Turning the white Cloud to dark. Thunderclaps and lightning strike anything near the darkness, shifting the Cloud slowly into a full raging storm. The Cloud hurts everything and everyone so it decides to go to the middle of the sea where it will meet nobody and touches no one.

A raging storm's home is at the middle of the ocean, far away from the shore, beyond anyone's view. There it stays until the Cloud genuinely learn how the world works.

Cover Photo by Diego PH on Unsplash


by Folie

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