A small, unassuming presence rests on the ground, unnoticed and unmoving. It is a stone, hard and grey, lying where it has been left - rolled by forces beyond its control. To the world, it is insignificant, a fragment of the earth's crust, too basic and too dull to catch anyone’s attention.
The stone feels its own density, a weight carried in silence. Deep within, it is made of countless fragments, pressed together, a million shards fused into a single, solid whole. This tightness is its strength, its survival. Without it, the stone would shatter into pieces, never again whole.
Above and around, the world moves relentlessly- giants rush past, their voices echoing in laughter, tears, anger, and joy. The stone observes quietly, an unseen witness to life’s passing stories. Feet come close, stepping lightly or with weight, but no one stops. It is just a stone. Too plain, too common to matter.
Occasionally, a hand picks it up - small fingers of a child, or the deliberate touch of an artist seeking inspiration in the mundane. For a moment, it is held, considered, and touched. Yet the stone knows it is not the star of any story. When the moment passes, it is tossed aside, rolled or dropped; always shaped by others, never by itself.
Helplessness stirs within its hardened core. Anger at the world that moves it without thought, frustration at its own inability to resist, and a resigned acceptance that this is how it has always been. The stone’s life is a cycle - of resistance, surrender, and beginning again, a silent loop, spinning endlessly.
But the world is not made only of giants. There is water too - soft, gentle, and unrelenting. Water touches the stone in a way nothing else can. It trickles over its surface, smoothing sharp edges, wearing away the unyielding hardness. Drop by drop, it transforms what was solid into something softer, finer. The stone feels itself dissolving, not in destruction, but in release.
What was once tightly held begins to let go. Hardness melts into grains of sand, no longer bound together. Freedom arrives in the breaking. No longer a singular stone, it becomes part of something greater - a thousand tiny particles, carried by the wind, floating in rivers, merging with oceans.
In the softness of its undoing, the stone discovers its liberation. It is no longer limited by its solid form or controlled by external forces. Its journey is fluid now, infinite, part of the earth’s endless cycles.
Perhaps being small, unnoticed, and invisible is not the end after all. Perhaps it is the beginning of transformation, the quiet unfolding of something new.
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