The second snowflake to fall into the pond was pink. It smelled like genuine imitation French perfume and spoke as softly as the mourning dove that coos to the dawning coral sun. It smiled and chuckled as “You” (her toes now hidden in a pair of candy-striped socks) mispronounced silly sentimental words and sang a song to “Me” from the ruled green tablet paper. Afterward they shared a box of artificially-buttered popcorn, munching the hot kernels as they made angels in the warm summer sand. When the game was over, the two held one another and whispered to the first star. “You” wished for forever, wanting their lives to continue beyond this sensation of newfound happiness. “Me” added more popcorn to the star’s shopping list before decorating the second snowflake with mulberry hearts from a jumbo box of crayons. He folded it neatly into thirds and slid it into a plain white envelope that bore the name “You.” He then sneaked it into her shiny black purse (the one he bought her) when she wasn’t looking and waited patiently for her to find it.
Now the yellowed envelope is torn from frigid fingers by the chilled autumn wind and cast into the pond. The second snowflake is companion to the first.
The third snowflake is blue. It remembers that his eyes were the color of maple syrup and glowed (just a little) whenever he spoke her name or teased her about those toes. It recalls tousled brown hair and the chewed-up pencil that always rested behind his ear. It sees those shirts with the stitched animal on the pocket and smells expensive cologne. It knows he enjoyed dancing but never with her (her hands were always clammy). It hears him reading to her from a dog-eared book of Shakespeare and Shelley while they ate chocolate graham cracker teddies (which she was allergic to) and drank lukewarm coffee (cream and sugar in his but never hers).
The third snowflake recalls the tender voice that grew silent and began spilling through the mouths of mutual friends. “I’m tired of ‘You.’ Nothing great happened anyways and–ha, ha!–nothing lasts forever, you know.” The third snowflake hears the chuckle that began deep within his chest before slipping through lying lips.
A blast of winter white, cold to the touch and bland to the taste, blurs into a frenzied mist and creates dizzying patterns upon gold and crimson leaves.
The third snowflake weeps and shivers beneath the gray sky. It spreads its arms, tests the water with a crooked toe, and joins the previous two.
