SnowGlobe

Don't ask, I odnt' know either what htis is about. it's my insane little editorial of nothingness. . .

Ever seen a snowglobe? Not the kind with the wooden platform on the bottom that chimes out lovely music when you command; the kind that’s a pure sphere, held on a removable display case made of cherry wood. The kind where if you had no gift of sight, and you held it in your hands, you could only feel the cool smoothness of its texture and you wouldn’t know right side up from upside down because there is none. Where it’s something without a beginning nor an end. The kind where if you look at it, and you hold it gently in your hands, all the floating pieces of fake snow sink to the bottom to create a blanket of white, but with one minute shake, you send the whole internal place into a fury of flurrying snow.

Yeah, that kind.

Where one minute it is so calm, a place you turn for something to pacify you when you’re frightened. And the next instant, it’s a world of fury and it’s lost and chaotic. But no matter what goes on inside, the outside is still the same smooth glossed surface that never changes.

Perhaps relationships are snowglobes. The kind that you can admire peacefully on a stand, but really appreciate when you hold it in your hands. But when you do hold it, you have to handle it with the utmost care or you can send it into a blizzard you can’t stop, and you can only look at it from the outside.

So maybe next time when you’re holding a snowglobe; the literal or symbolic kind; be careful. Blizzards will settle. But when it drops. . . it stays that way.