The snow falls. It drifts like a ballerina on stage. Swiftly moving back and forth. Dressed diligently in white. Moving in such close precision. As if it feared, it would break.

(But everything breaks. Glass breaks, you break, I break. Are we glass? Are we really fragile, see through glass? Is that why we have rules? Rules break...)

It falls slowly. Not wanting to touch the ground. Dreading to end up down there. Just like all the others. For it to never end.

(How will I be broken? Maybe I'll fall. Maybe, I'll be pushed. Dropped. Or maybe. I'll run. And jump. Spreading my arms wide. Waiting for the crash. That's the difference between us. You pray to never break. I long for it.)

But then it touches the ground. Becoming just another thing on the ground.

(Just we all will be.)

A thin, white sheet covering everything.

(Just like we all will.)