You are a snowflake, begging for a break, trying to stay cool, so afraid to melt. You fell from the clouds, a long long way down…
Once upon a time, you were a drop in the ocean, atoms of hydrogen and oxygen, H2O, to sound cool, nothing too different. You know, just trying to stay afloat, swiping on the sand, crashing on a boat, surfing with the gang.
But you rose, the mercury too, nothing could stop you, and you went up, all the way up. It just happened, you couldn’t stop, it was never the goal, to fly a gassy road.
You travelled without a suitcase, you saw the world, just in case, in case it might end, and never be the same.
You danced across the sky, you painted it with colors so bright they’re seen by the blinds. Blues, pinks, and purples, juicy strides of magic. Go ahead, take a pic.
But then, it got cold, and heavy. You felt stuck, one with too many. Your mind got cloudy. The lightness of the sunset turned to suffocation. The cirrocumulus turned to cumulonimbus, so you buckled up and got on the bus. You felt it coming, like in any song or story, the cliff, the drop, but with no bridge to catch you this time, no el nino to tag along. The storm, the flurry, the record lows, with high piles of snow. The weatherman was happy.
You felt alone, yet fell with billions. Coming down from a high, blurring up the sky. You fell all the way down, nestled in a snow bank, somewhere up North, or down, depending on how you look at it. Truthfully, there is no top or bottom on a sphere, but it comforts some to think they’re above others, revealing that their ego took over.
You look around: it’s deep white, but you see dark. You feel different. They feel like this too. We’re all unique, yet kind of the same. It’s winter, it’s silent.
From the outside looking in, you’re a speck of white in the infinite, a frozen derivation of water, substance alternating state and circling this planet. Sometimes it feels like you’re just part of a chemical experiment. A speck of white in the infinite, they say… But you still feel different, unique even.
They push you, shove you onto the side, get dirt in your mind, step on you, like you’re an anomaly, an alien from the sky.
They only like you when they see you from their inside, these rare romantic moments with the wood crackling and the pine needles perfuming the living room with plastic plants that’ll never bloom. They like you from afar. They prefer their comfort, that’s just how it is. When you touch them, they can feel it. Damn, that’s cold! People prefer not to feel. Don’t take it personal. Never be neutral. That’s not why you crystalized.
The truth is...
You are a masterpiece.
It doesn’t matter if they know it, if they see it, if they like you or if they don’t: your truth is unconditional, your uniqueness is factual. Their eyes can’t even see the beauty of your design. They’re obsessed with their navel, and they miss the spectacle.
Yet no matter how many snowflakes there are, no matter how many variations this world has seen, remember that you are absolutely and indubitably unique and mind-blowing as the wind blows you afar and as the sun tries to melt you down, you are still unique, the first and the last of your kind, the most limited edition you can find.
Don’t let your doubts kidnap the sweetest feeling of realizing and embracing your divine nature, to admire the art of you, to celebrate your incomparable architecture. Please don’t try to fit a puzzle that is not yours. It would be painful, and futile.