The storm’s over, the sun’s returned, and you’re the last snowflake to fall. When you land, the other snowflakes are already melting. And you think, In another life, I might have been rain.
*
Your eyes, looking back at you in wonder from the still water of a shimmering pond, and you, not noticing, as you comb your hair in front of the mirror.
*
I, me, mine — we suffer to the extent that we cling to the idea of our individuality.
*
Where I am not and the body is, pain rings like a bell.
.
[ 1662 ]
Categories: A Few More Scratches
Tags: Bells, Ego, Eyes, Individuality, Mirrors, Pain, Rain, Reflections, Snowflakes, Storms, Suffering
William Michaelian 
It’s wonderful, dear William!
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Thank you, Valeria!
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I look forward to checking your posts. Thank you for being so amazing 💕
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Thank you, for being so kind.
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1662! (A keeper!)
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A bookmark! A dog-ear! (thank you)
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I bookmarked it!
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Lieber Freund, meinst du mit Landen die einzelne Schneeflocke, dann würde ich es so lesen: wenn sie landet, schmelzen die …. Aber sicher hast du dir dabei etwas gedacht, lächel, ich steige noch dahinter…
Ganz lieb, Edith
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Dear Edith… even what I thought seems to have melted… and so whatever you think is all that matters now…
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Your words are like light misty rain in the early morning – absolutely sublime! Reading your posts is always an elightening experience. Thank you for sharing your heart with the world, William.
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And I thank you. I always say, what a reader brings, gives a word wings. And that is certainly true with you.
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