You once told me how hauntingly beautiful snowflakes were
Back then all I could hear were the sound of cellos in your throat
I did not try and understand why
But I could appreciate the beauty of its intricacies
How the throat slowly caresses golden strings, delicately guiding each vibration past your lips as you spoke
You admired snowflakes how they would dress in all white
slow dance with the air and linger to its decent
Only to be admired as the ghost of a smile when touched
Some nights I wondered how the production of something so unique and pure could be so foolish
To present such fragile bodies
To only collapse under the weight of their own wavering existence
The short distance of its life determined by the winds of change
Only to be acknowledged then forgotten
Not to be remembered
Just be