Shadows that live in winter

they say no two snowflakes are alike, but how do you workshop that in writing class? everyone comes with the same story, just with a different structure, and that's when it hits me - I'm as unique as a light fixture, missing the point entirely.

I took a creative writing course once, a long time ago, when I wasn't yet bitter. I sat next to a girl who opened like a flower when it was her turn to give her input. she read a poem of hers out loud, about her boyfriend's mom. but her voice wasn't hers. it was a poet's - I ask you: do snowflakes change shape when they know they're beautiful?

ten years later, it isn't her poem that sticks with me from that class. it was her voice, the way she spoke. how each word became an icicle, right in the eyelid.

I think of "every snowflake is unique" as a parody. but maybe it's the structure, the shadow they cast on each of us, individually.

I wonder if she knows she was an icon. the applause after her reading was electric. all these years later, she is a shadow that exists in winter - unique and structurally sound, even after it hits the ground.