They float aimlessly and directionlessly through the open sky, with nothing but the wind telling them where to go. Sometimes they get so filled with tears that they can’t hold them in anymore so they cry. They are our respite from the bright sun on a hot day. We impose shapes on them, we dream about being able to float on them. Sometimes they are dark and angry. Sometimes they are fluffy and full of life.
Sometimes, I feel like a cloud.
And sometimes that’s ok.