He was hanging from the tap he had been born out of. Hanging. Hanging. All he ever did was hanging. He liked hanging. He was made for hanging, and he never would stop hanging. He thought.
Underneath him there was… A surface. It seemed to be of the same substance as him, only bigger. So much bigger it seemed to follow other rules. Other ways. He could not imagine this big surface hanging like he did.
He was scared of the surface, but at the same time it intrigued him. He felt an urge to join it. To explore it. What was the Surface? Why was it there? Where did it come from?
He fell. Fell towards the Surface. He met it. Felt an impact. There was something underneath the surface. More of him. There was no longer him and the surface, it was only him. He was the surface, and the surface was him.
Some day he would be part of other drops like the one he was before. He would be steam, he would be ice. Some day he’d be part of the sea.