Preface . . .
A snowflake is symbolic of a moment, trapped and frozen in time. Each snowflake has its own imprint, like lives wrapped in laughter and joy, in grief and sorrow, unique, chaotic and beautiful moments that we are unable to recreate, for no two are the same.
Snowflakes taste of nostalgia, laced with bittersweet notes of waxy lemons and orange blossom honey. There’s no feeling quite like catching snowflakes, whether they’re melting on your tongue, clustered in the palm of your hand or preserved somewhere safe, somewhere only we know.
Like white winter butterflies arcing across silver skies and racing towards a fluorescent red sun, they are gone too soon. But here are some that lingered, that stayed with me. These snowflakes refused to melt on my breath and disappear at my fingertips. I’m throwing them up in the air, everywhere. And they’re yearning, yearning for you to catch them.
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