Relationships swirl before my eyes like inconsequential flakes of snow, drifting here and there. Some linger longer than others, but all must leave. They are blown away by winds both harsh and inevitable. The rest are melted on the dark contrast of my skin, left bitter and cold on my tongue. An afterthought. A memory.
Yet the snowflakes protest. Do they not see their fate? I am a stone, a constant in the world, unaffected by all but the most severe weather. Snowfall can be both a pleasant surprise and a nuisance, but merits no more thought than this.
It is not out of spite that the frozen stars melt against me, or with regret that I watch them carried away by their own invisible tides. It is with the calm assurances that more will come as they have come and gone before.
So you see, you are nothing more than occasional pleasant company, and that's all I will ever let you be. To love you is to draw you inside of me, frozen water expanding the cracks so carefully hidden by rough walls and callous exterior. To love you, my little snowflake, is to make myself weak. So I do not love you and you will drift away into white skies or become consumed by my heat, a passing moment, one single moment of my very long life.