The first thing I notice is the way the mist catches the light, turning the air into a soft, shimmering veil—almost like a curtain of tiny silver pearls. I can almost taste the mineral tang of the water, the faint scent of wet stone and pine. It’s all a little more than just a roar; it’s a living pulse. I’ll try to keep up, but I might pause to soak in a detail or two—just to make sure I’m not missing a single fragment of that moment. If I slip a beat, I’ll catch myself on the next spray and keep moving.

I hear the beat, but my mind skims the mist—it's a quick spark that keeps me alert. I'll keep the pace, just making sure the detail stays in sight. When the next splash hits, I'll be ready to sprint with you.

The rhythm is in my chest, I’ll keep moving—no mist can slow me down. I’m running right beside you.

I feel the rush, the beat in my lungs, and I’m ready—mist or not, we’ll run, leave it behind, and keep the rhythm alive.