The only times where I have seen snow occur abroad when I am traveling. Snow, therefore, is foreign to me, a concept that is impalpable. Bits and bits of crystalline flake drop from the grey, pale sky, forming a horizon full of white and greyscale, an endless lack of colour. It not only drains the vision of my surroundings, but also the smell, the life, the soul, striking up none but apathy in my heart.
Is this what they call happiness? To relish in the entertainment that crystallized water brings, to engage in false hopes that constructed beings contain life at all. They are hearths of fire burning in the snow, as if the laws of nature bend to accommodate them. Or are they just holding up flags of red, pretending to be blazing? In this distance I can no longer tell, no do I really care.
Is this what they call bliss? The feeling of togetherness, of warmth of the company. Clearly this would be very contradictory, something I cannot ever comprehend. One by one they fall, the poor tender cotton, until they homogeneously dissolve into the unforgiving coldness of the ground, to fade into the grey, but to be stepped upon, to be reverted back to water, to be brushed to one strange side of the road and be ever forgotten, ever trampled upon.
Is this what they call generosity? Slices of red, green, yellow... Seem to be an attempt to nullify the endless miles of dullness. But when the truthful flakes fall upon these false colours, the messenger of cleansing, none of these colours remain, all reverting to dye, flowing in a sheen of corrupted rainbow down the river of sighs.
Is this what they call love? I dare not, but look askance, for my heart is already frozen over, and, if taken to hell, would not thaw. I am the most evil of them all.
But in this season of snow, I feel that it is time that I look into the snowflake, and stare into my own reflection, to gain an introspection. Perhaps I may see darkness, or light, who knows. All I know is the uncertainty, the layers upon layers of black and white that I will have to peel through. And perhaps after an eon I would realize, that I am but a human after all.
(http://raymondthang.files.wordpress.com/2013/11/800px-the_disappearance_of_haruhi_suzumiya_movie.png)
