Hilary D Zamora writes and paints

Daesha and I had our arms outstretched and our heads back with our eyes up pointed at the sky, while the snow fell quietly with a dedication to covering the ground. In our hair and eyelashes it fell, just these tiny weightless diamonds, and I knew this was it. It was over. I'd never come here again. And so we spun, slowly, as it fell down, down, down. We both realized that we wouldn’t see each other again, unless we met later as adults. It was only three years until I turned eighteen, but it seemed a life sentence. We’d surrendered to the solemn realization, wholly subdued by the gravity of what had just happened. As we gazed upward we didn't speak, allowing the snowflakes to spellbind our solemn last few minutes. It was serene and reposeful , everything still, like we‘d been locked away in a fragment of time, a moment trapped inside a snow globe. ~Hilary D Zamora