Eventually I relent and we go home, mother in a dour mood. During the eternal fall some snowflakes huddle together for comfort. They surrender their shimmering selves for a dull uniformity. My mother hit me for taking money and putting it in parking meters. A pure form shatters on the chaotic shore of earth.
Purity is tainted by the dirty breakers.
The virgin is consumed by shallow sophistication leaving only a puddle of despair. My father dies when I am six. He lay in a hospital bed a caricature of the man I saw a few short weeks ago. As time goes by the shattered mass together and form their own cold creation. But a blanket of white is only a pale reflection of gleaming spires that once reflected the brilliance of the sun.