On your first breath, I heard you. It was a small something. Significant as a flake of snow among many.
But its soft spiraling shadows in the gentle light did fall upon the windowsills of every heart.
It was a shy dance, however, and cruel winter clawed at any who dared glimpse upon in wonder.
And in your lonesome you thought to presume that you were the winter, frigid, biting and destined to lovelessness.
And so it went, you sequestered and surrounded by cold ice, dancing and singing your lovely tunes.
Till on a rare day, the wind blew you out of the hoard, you surfed its gentle touch, surging ever higher, to where no snowflake had ever gone before.
You frolicked! There was no winter now, only bustling lights, which made you shimmer in the seven colors of rain and sun.
Your dance was now wonder, and it shone in the eyes of all who saw and heard of it. Pilgrims were they, drawn to your music and dance, they came in ones, in twos, in hordes, until there were too many.
Lights that had brought you all the ‘love’ you wanted now asked for their toll and slow droplets melted off your icy edges, those lovers of yours who just wanted a ‘harmless’ touch, took away slivers off your substance until you grew too thin, too thin to sing or dance, or even look upon.
So weak, you drifted low again, to your old wintry home, but time hadn’t waited, there was a new season in town, and everyone loved summer.
Icicles dripped tears into an unfeeling spring below and as the last soothing wisp of wintry frost blew by, it whispered sorrowfully to your fading self, “Was I truly villainous, for loving you so, enough to let you go?