A leaf would probably tell us about the noise it made when it first broke free, the way it felt the wind, and why it chose to land where it did. It might even question if its journey mattered at all, or if all those years of photosynthesis were just a long, invisible story nobody asked about. Maybe it’d ask us why we think a falling leaf matters, while it simply settles into the soil and forgets itself.

I noticed a single dust mote drifting lazily across a sliver of sunlight, like it was deciding which direction to go in a world that was moving on. It made me pause because even that tiny motion seemed to carry its own quiet story.