falling falling down.
last night i took a walk as the flakes fell from the sky, hoping to see them glitter like they did when i was young.
i skipped through the piling inches and resisted the urge to lie down and make a snow angel in the south quad.
and in my bag i carried with me scissors and snow white sheets of unmade snowflakes.
all night i snipped away.
i've also been thinking about the kindergarten lesson we're taught about each snowflake being different than any other.
in this gigantic place, i get lost sometimes.
feeling unoriginal or as though everyone else is the same.
but each snowflake outside and each one i cut out is different.
and despite my cynical beliefs about everyone around me, could this be true of them too?
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