Raindrops Argue Over Which One Will Touch the Ocean First

“I am the heaviest!”
declares the first drop,
certain that mass equals destiny.
“Gravity has chosen me
as its favorite child.”

“But I am the most aerodynamic,”
whispers the second,
shaping itself like a teardrop’s dream.
“Air resistance bows before
my perfect form.”

The third one laughs,
a ripple of rebellion:
“You’re both missing the wind —
I’ve befriended the breeze,
we’ve planned a shortcut
through the slipstream.”

“Experience is what matters,”
boasts the fourth,
a veteran of countless cycles
of evaporation and return.
“I’ve fallen ten thousand times,
each descent a rehearsal
for this moment.”

The smallest drop stays quiet,
understanding already
that they are all
the same water,
the same journey,
the same destination
wearing different shapes
of temporary self.