Before I Fall to Earth

I remember first learning about the states of matter in grade school. It all seemed simple enough. An ice cube was the safest example. The teacher put an ice cube on the table, then lit a fire from above. She watched as the ice slowly melted, leaving a puddle in its wake. Solid to liquid, just like that. It was magic.

Snow was a funny one, though. It’s called “solid precipitation” as it falls to Earth. A sort of in between state.

That was a long time ago now. And I have the kind of snow that doesn’t melt. It doesn’t chill, either. It burns, as it courses through my veins.

It weighs heavy in my pocket, threatening to suck me into its blizzard. The many nights I lay awake, staring into the mirror, the lines of perfectly positioned snow eager for someone to traverse the slopes.

The ride along the way is fun, but I always found myself searching for the next high. The black diamond. The perfect slope.

But this sport is not for the faint of heart. At best, you break your nose. At worst, you are crippled for life. Friends and family gone, all relationships and hopes dashed with a trip down the mountain.

Anyone who said snow was a symbol for innocence had clearly never met this kind.

I long for the days where I matter again. Where I can change matter, before I fall to Earth. I will wait for the snow to thaw.