I’m a fluffy white cloud in the blue sky on a sunny day.
I’m a gloomy grey cloud on a winter day.
I’m a thin string hanging to the air.
How I look does not depict who I am and what I feel.
I’m a tiny blob of vapour among a thousand others. You can’t tell where I end and others begin. We can stand alone, but we like to stay together.
If you look at us from the ground, we look like a Monet painting.
Some days I think that I don’t exist. You won’t be able to see me.
Some days I would see my reflection on the water, then I would be reminded that I’m not alone.
Some days I let the wind takes me wherever it wants. In fact, the wind is always pushing me somewhere, but some days I’d like to think that I’m in control of my fate.
Some days I hardened myself up and let myself fall. Then I would break into a thousand pieces.
Some days lightning will strike on me.
People would notice me more during sunrises or sunsets. They would even say that I look beautiful. I wonder what they see in me, or it’s just the magical colours that the sun gives me to wear.
I may seem slow but I’m moving very fast.
People will love me and they will hate me. Some have told me that they are happy to see me, for example when I come along or hang out with a few friends. Some have told me that they are better off without me. When I come with my greyish parents and grandparents, people will show us these colourful round things that move around and we can’t see them anymore. It’s a spectacular show.
I will die. It’s inevitable. My death will be wet (so please don’t cry for me).
My body will start new lives.