‍Far above the clouds floats the island Orbaire
where everyone is equal and everyone shares.
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Orbaire is a memory. Orbaire is a dream.
Orbaire is a place that exists in between.
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The orbs who inhabit this liminal plane
are happy and helpful but they are all the same.
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Orbaire is a utopia. Orbaire self-sustains,
but the orbs of Orbaire have forgotten their names.
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Their names aren’t forgotten by malicious intent,
but a lack of inspiration has left them complacent.
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The same can’t be said for a young blob named Loof
who ponders existence alone on a roof.
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All young blobs become orbs to be unitary,
but Loof asks, “Can’t I be a blob and still be me?”
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When a blob comes of orb, in Orbaire, so it is said,
they are given a robe and a job and a bed.
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Here they work as a unit and miraculously so.
They all work together; they all watch Orbaire grow.
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But something is lost in the uniform hustle, and a
smoothness so smooth makes Loof yearn for a shuffle.
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Loof loves their orb family and Orbaire and the sky,
but Loof loves being Loof. They like it just fine.
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Loof sees the world in a different way, wants to
share their ideas even when they're strange.
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In fact stranger is better as far as Loof is concerned,
not the same old ideas to be thoughtlessly churned.

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‍When builder orbs build in the sky scattered land,
they build from only approved building plans.
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But Loof wants to build wild things from their mind,
like a spiral shaped house with a fountain inside.
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And inside the fountain a nectar so sweet
that orbs from all over would come for the treat.
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Ideas such as this, though sweet they may seem,
are not part of the plan and will not come to be.
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A frustrated Loof feels constrained and constricted,
they yearn to realize the ideas they’ve been gifted.
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All these plans were by no measure wrong, but
Loof didn’t like being stuck playing the same song.
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Loof knew they had a decision to make,
leave Orbaire or accept their orb fate.
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The night before Loof’s coming of orb ceremony
was like any other except it was stormy.
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Loof’s robe left outside became soaked in the rain,
they were offered their mom’s, modest and plain.
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But Loof abhorred drab robes so they protested
to which mom responded, “you must accept it.”
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“We all become orbs and wear robes,” they went on
as Loof gazed afar with a longing quite long.
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Loof couldn’t quite place it, this feeling they had.
They went to their room and packed a small bag.
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Their mother called out, seeing Loof with their sack,
“I fear if you leave you might never come back”.
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This made Loof quite sad. Orbaire was their home,
but they needed to strike out, be a blob of their own.
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When the bell rang and the blobs gathered round
there was no sign of Loof at their home or in town.
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But off in the clouds a shimmer shown in the light,
it was Loof in a robe that inspired delight.
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The robe covered in colors and bejeweled to the max
had been altered so that it fanned out in the back.
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The seams were all sewn with a sparkling thread
that Loof’s mother had sewn after Loof went to bed.
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But the most striking feature, in gold and in gray,
was Loof’s name in bold, proudly put on display.
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This awoke in the orbs, something forgotten.
Their names returned, they told how they got them.
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Loof looked on the scene with a tear in their eye,
as the orbs said their names Loof started to cry.
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Crying with joy Loof addressed the orb crowd
who were laughing and talking and joking around.
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“We can be ourselves and still work together.
In this way I believe we can make Orbaire better.”
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“We are still a collective, we are still an orb team,
What makes us stronger is that we’re unique”
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The orbs had awoken and reclaimed their names,
individuals standing together are stronger, not the same.
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The modern Orbaire as compared to the old
is an eclectic and magical sight to behold.
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Orbaire is a memory. Orbaire is a dream.
Orbaire is a place that exists in between.
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