Blogging · Fiction · short

The snowflake…

Cyranny

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On days like today, Nature didn’t seem to bother with simple physics’ laws. The snow floated in mid-air, weightless, like sparkling diamonds waiting to be picked. The birds sang spring songs in the backstreet, probably to shake the lingering cold off their feathers.

I walked pointlessly. Just a blurry silhouette in a Monet winter scene.

The flake landed on my cheek. Merely an icy butterfly, tired of flying around, hitting bulls eye and finding a home on my emotionless face. It melted to the warmth of my rosy skin. A tear sent from the skies, without the side-dish sorrow.

And I damned myself. I damned my corny heart…

Because at that moment, the only thought that came to my mind was how I would have given up anything to feel your thumb tenderly wipe the drop from my face.

But there would be no thumb brushing against my skin, no more tenderness in my life, no light at the end of the tunnel.

Only my skin clothed emptiness, the silent snowfall…

And the birds’ songs, cruel reminder of what joy once felt like.

9 thoughts on “The snowflake…”

  1. I cannot express enough how I loved this particular line in your piece. “The flake landed on my cheek. Merely an icy butterfly, tired of flying around, hitting bulls eye and finding a home on my emotionless face. It melted to the warmth of my rosy skin. A tear sent from the skies, without the side-dish sorrow”
    Amazing writing! 💗

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    1. Thank you so much, Beckie 🙂 It is special that you noticed this particular line, since it is what inspired the mini-story. I was walking outside when a huge snowflake landed on my cheek, and melted, leaving a drop of water on my skin. The rest was just embroided around this precise moment 😉

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