I know that this will kill you.

Holding you with these cloth-covered hands, I know this theft spells your death. But there is no help for it, you were too beautiful not to touch. This is your fault. You did this.

I picked you from among dozens, you special, crystal dagger. You were the longest, you were the finest. I plucked you from the rafters like a thief stealing a slim and frigid diamond.

But you’re not a stone.

Stay with me, ice, until I can show you to the world. Wait for me to show you to the others so that they may know that you were real, that my run-down, dilapidated house produced you. That beautiful things really can come out of that place that I call home.

Let me show them… please.

Then you may melt in my hands. I’ll even hold you to my chest, if you like. You can thaw in the warmth of my soft and grateful embrace.

That would be a nice way to die, I think.

Just let me show them, first.



14 thoughts on “Icicle

      • Guess it sounds kinda weird, huh? Just the thought of holding a melting icecicle gives the shivers, and I am 😢 a lot of the time too, especially in the winter. ❄⛄❄

        Liked by 1 person

      • Well. Consider holding something cold with gloves on. Something frigid when you are warm, that you are not being destructive but transformative? Your warmth can make someone else’s iciness into air.

        I apologize if I sound extremely outlandish. New Years is my excuse. But there might be merit in there somewhere. ❄️

        Liked by 1 person

      • I love that idea! I also love that you may sound outlandish at times because I am that way most of the time too. I have to wear two pairs of gloves in the apartment just to make my hands function,but the of transformation is exciting!

        Liked by 1 person

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