She hated the cold, yet loved the snow.  Fresh, and pure.  Moonlight bouncing of the snowflakes.  She wanted to blanket herself in the innocence of the early morning.  She wanted to melt into whiteness.  She longed to wake with the beauty and freshness of the first snow.

But she was human.  Dirty and flawed from the start.  The moon didn’t reach down to bounce of her skin.  She didn’t glisten in the morning light.  The limbs did not bow at her presence.  She was not beauty and first snow freshness.  She was age, and she would deteriorate.  Her body would become stale, rotten, flaky and hard.  She was not soft as the snow.  She would not melt with dignity  as the sun shown on her.

She loved the snow, yet she was so cold.


3 thoughts on “Snow

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