jimmyaceino:

Sometimes the snow looks less like a graceful fall, dancing on the wind, playing in its descent, and more like a rapid plummeting, eagerly racing towards the ground. Like it’s running out of time. Like it needs to end its present circumstance. Like a man running in business attire. Like a woman crying privately in a public place. How could anyone know why? It’s a mystery. With a hidden purpose we only see the action and the effect. We are spectators in the show.