Hopelessly addicted to metaphors!
Constantly daydreaming.
Is very desperate for a daily, three-hour English grammar lesson.
Resorts to poetry for (in)sanity.
Usually writes when reality gets too hard to breathe in.

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All feedback is greatly appreciated.
Review this piece however you want to! ( Be critical, or simple. You do You!)

Into The World

October 9, 2017

 When I first touched snow, it was midnight in the middle of nowhere.
 The ride there was probably what I liked second best. It was hours away from home, but the first time I saw snow was in the car. It was late noon on the same day and the very moment we emerged from the tunnel, the snow hit the windshield. I was the only child in the car and three grown-ups turned their heads to me at the same time. Mom nudged me and said, "Well? It's snow."
 I remember she whispered afterward, "Pretend to be excited."
 But the spot itself was gorgeous. I forgot about the racoon we almost hit on the way.
 There was a lampost, illuminating the thick bed of snow so that it shone blue. There was a bench, too, caked in snow. The memory is blurry, but I remember every single speck of snow descending upon my face as I made my first snow angel. And my second, third, fourth...
 My parents were in their car, but that was after Mom took a picture of me. 
 I was alone then, but I didn't think much of loneliness, because when dreams come true for a child, their world is complete for a time. My world right there could have been compressed into a snowglobe. My footprints in the snow, a lampost, my parents' car, and a bench. 
 Maybe I had imagined the bench. The memory is blurry.
 The difference is quite distinct from the times I made "snow" out of shredded tissues and baby powder. I didn't need an electric fan for the snow to rise and trickle down the air. 
 The snow was on my eyelashes and I took off my beanie.
 There was a strange happiness in soltitude that I didn't notice until now. I didn't notice how Time stopped. You forget about sunrise. And dangerous rides down slippery highways. And the family of deers that could have been staring at me through the trees. And selfishness didn't exist because I had everything. You forget about yourself, too. Only the things that you've done.
 And Time ticks again. And the color fades through time, and another artwork is seen.

 Now, a few years later, I wonder. 
 And I wonder why I now yearn for someone to share the small space of my snowglobe with.


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  • October 9, 2017 - 1:13am (Now Viewing)

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  • Brittany - Write the World

    Hello HollyDays,
    I'm reaching out regarding a WtW publication opportunity regarding this piece, "Into the World." Please reach out to brittany@writetheworld.com for more information.

    Your Editors

    8 months ago
  • AbigailSauble

    I love how you gave us (your readers) the picture of a snowglobe! And you're right about time when it's snowing outside. It does stop. :)
    Keep writing! God bless!

    over 2 years ago