>be me
>snow’s coming down like it’s trying to bury something
>decide to try and make a snowball again
>not for fun
>not for joy
>just to see what sticks
>
>start in the alley behind the old place
>real crusty spot
>snowball picks up bits of soggy drywall, rat fur, someone’s band-aid
>keeps growing
>not better, just bigger
>start pushing it out of habit more than anything
>my eyes hurt
>
>somewhere along the way the snow stops sticking
>just slush sliding off like it’s ashamed
>ball’s heavy now
>keep rolling
>no one asks me to
>no one tells me to stop
>that’s worse
>
>neighbor sees me
>storms over
>tells me to stop
>that’s worse
>tells me to follow him into my house
>i do
>
>lived in this house 3 years
>small hallway light outside bedroom always on at night
>i don’t touch it, just always on
>one night, it’s off
>assume bulb burned out
>go to check
>it’s not off—it’s gone
>socket is empty
>wall is sealed over where the switch was
>no paint mismatch, no patchwork
>roommate says “you always hated that light”
>i’ve never once mentioned it
>
>can’t stop thinking about that snowball
>wasn’t expecting that
>don’t know what to do with it
>i feel responsible now
>
>not because of what it didn't pick up
>because of what it could
>
>pure snow didn’t stick to the dirty stuff
>snow needs snow
>cold finds cold
>bright finds bright
>the rest just melts
>
>pass a group of kids building something that looks like you along the way
>they don’t look up
>but did announce, “we’re almost done”
>
>snowball rolls past me
>perfect sphere
>only snow
>cold
>bright
>
>snow looks for snow
>snow knows snow
>
>It's colder and brighter because it was never just me