the first snowfall,

Milky clouds of bloodless stain poured onto the hills, the valleys, the rooftops, and the concrete. The first snowfall is always a mix of festivity and melancholic feelings. Festive, because nature brings curiosity in the form of snowballs. The white pigment covers the barren land, like a painting. This is beauty. Melancholic, because the nights are no longer transparent, and bare skin can no longer kiss Summer’s bloom. I am choosing to be festive, even though it’s already melted by the time I wrote to you.

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