clouds

every cloud tells a story.

that’s what my nani always said.

and the story was different for every person. it was unique.

individualistic.

just made for you.

she said it always reflected their mind

their foremost thoughts

their deepest desires

she said it was the best way to judge their characters.

i looked up at a cloud that looked like a gaint with a heavy backpack,

holding out his hand for someone on the ground.

as though that someone was going to climb up his palm and join him on his adventure. because they were friends.

i told her what i saw.

she told me i had a creative mind.

i asked her what she saw.

she said saw a snail crawling by.

i couldn’t see that picture at all.

no matter how many times i turned my head and forced myself to see it.

it was still my big friendly giant.

yet i smiled back to her.

i told her that was interesting and continued the observation exchange with the next cloud that floated past us.

years have gone by and i have collected a billion stories about clouds.

i’ve asked everyone: from strangers i’ve met to the closet companions i’ve kept

each time the story has been different. barely have they been the exact same.

stories have overlapped, people have shared almost similar thoughts

but there’s always something distinctively different in their stories that one notices if they looked hard enough.

i still remember not being able to see the snail my nani saw

but i can’t say the same for me now.

now i tend to see things the way others do.

i tend to look their way and see what they see and do not manage to unsee them.

i lose sight of my story and forget myself

just so i could be more like them