Snow
It snows.
The kind of weather that you can feel on the inside, rather than the outside, because even though you have a million clothes on, you’ll never be warm. The soul is cold and asks you for a pair of gloves and a scarf for itself, but unfortunately this isn’t posibile, so it will keep freezing inside you.
Even so, however horrible it is to feel your soul catching icicles, it’s beautiful outside. Ridiculously beautiful, because you feel ugly. The landscape stole your beauty and warmth and turned it into snow, like the sky has its own soul, so cold that needs to spread its frostbite.
The kind of weather that doesn’t allow you to get out of the house, but you can’t stay inside either. The warmth of the radiator and the hot chocolate will only warm up your hands, but not your heart. And you’re so cold, a snowflake through so many others. One that does not fall from the sky and that doesn’t melt so easily.
But if you looked closer, you could see the snowflakes screaming as they fall and crash upon the cars or the pavement. You’d like to scream too, but then you remember that no one pays attention to them.
I feel bad, walking in this weather, thinking I’m a strolling cemetery for all this snow, that the wind tears down my memorial stones and the church is already demolished.