She Will Gravitate When She Is Ready
After all this time living among humans, I have yet to grasp the meaning of simple actions: float, swim, walk. What are such things? I do not know. “She will gravitate when she is ready,” my mom used to say every night before bed. What’s so special about gravitating anyway? It’s one of those things to be obsessed over. Like love or justice. I see other clouds floating, rising, falling, or so they tell me. I see them play tag-and-run with lightning. I see them darken when they drink too much or when they are tired after a long game of tag. There are all sorts of games my buddies taught me. When I was a little cloud, my parents would engulf me like an amoeba eats whatever it eats. I would fold into their wisps and doze off. After a few hours, they would let me see the scenery. It always changed after those naps. There was always something new to see. Giraffes and mountains and skyscrapers. This one time, the other clouds and I came dangerously close to a rocket launch. It was exhilaratin...