snowflakes.

in july, i cut out paper snowflakes and colored them rainbow, then taped them to the inside of my window.

"what's with the snowflakes?" you asked, confused, when you noticed them.

"i like snowflakes," i replied simply.

"but it's july. it never snows in july, so why put snowflakes up?" you asked, still puzzled.

i said, "because if a miracle happens and it does snow, the inside will match the outside for once."

you asked, after a moment's pause, "why color them rainbow?"

"because not everything is black and white."

but you never understood. later, you tore them down, and i caught you feeding them to a candle's flames.

---

it was foggy the day you left.

i made a handprint on your back window so you'd have something to remember me by.

but, like memories, it slowly faded.

---

i wrote you a letter.

it said:


i miss the way you drew hearts on my hand; the way your hair looked in the wind. i miss the color of your eyes and the way your skin felt on mine.

i'm still trying to decide if i miss you, though. do you miss me?

if you do and if you ever want to find me, i'll still be here, cutting out paper snowflakes.


except i didn't send it, because i knew you'd never look for me.