I am a cloud in a world full of clouds.
People call me shy;
I see myself as low-lying fog.
Fog-the thick stuff right in front of your eyes,
so think you can’t see through it…
Until you’ve crossed into the inside.
I don’t see myself as above others,
so I’m low to the ground.

Other clouds –
Storm clouds, and those clouds you can imagine
as anything your heart desires,
and the wispy ones high up in the skies…
They are dramatic and charming, but what are they really?
Some clouds become ripped apart by cars,
but others are ripped apart by planes.
Is there even a cloud never caught, never ripped apart in any motion?
For really, we are all as each other.