There is snow falling, it is beautiful. So innocent as it covers the ground in a blanket of untouched powder. I close my eyes for a moment and think of Gabriels first time being in the snow...would he have cried or giggled? Would his cheeks get rosy pink from the cold? I want to catch the loveliness outside, keep it in a bottle for when I need the peace it brings. But I can't, it would melt and be nothing but water in a jar.
Grief is like the snow. Each day its own snowflake, individual and unique.
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