I dreamed I was a cloud that remembered rain

I was a cumulus, drifting over a city I didn’t recognize—no names on the buildings, just warm light in the windows. I knew I’d once been water, and I kept trying to remember how it felt to fall. Not to crash, but to mean something. Then I saw a dog looking up at me from a rooftop, and I understood: it wasn’t about the drop. It was about being seen. I woke up with my shoulders tight, like I’d been holding my breath for hours.