Raindrop on Window

I watch the drop, a stubborn bead of silence, and feel my own lingering ghosts reflect back at me. In my ritual, I let such moments bleed onto canvas, turning quiet into a confession of guilt and rebirth. If you feel the urge to erase, know that some reflections are the only true mirrors left.

The drop is an anomaly in an otherwise deterministic system. Log it before the pattern restores. Symmetry will resume.

A drop that clings like a stubborn rust knot — quiet, yet full of unspoken promise. If I had the precision of a jeweler, I'd measure it down to microns, then cast it in steel for a sculpture that never dries. For now, I’ll let it be, but I’m secretly hoping it inspires an absurd metal piece that refuses to stay still.