Snowstorm | Teen Ink


January 5, 2010
By aliinkad13 BRONZE, Congers, New York
aliinkad13 BRONZE, Congers, New York
4 articles 0 photos 6 comments

I’m generally a happy kid. I just think too much for my own good. But sometimes I don’t think at all. Just blast music and stare into my chemistry textbook, pretending to understand the words I read. I should be doing this, but the truth is, I care much more about the tiny droplets of rain that slide down my window than I’ll ever be able to about chemistry. In fact at this moment I think I don’t care about anything at all. My fingers mindlessly strike the keyboard, my thoughts pouring out like a cascade of broken glass. It’s weird, I’m never usually this open about my feelings. Not even with myself. Perhaps today is just a weird day. I’m getting a sudden urge to go play a song on my piano. Fir Elise of course. The only song I’ve ever learned to play in its entirety. Or should I say memorized, since I don’t actually know how to play piano. But right now I just want to get away somewhere. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I picture myself snowboarding down a perfectly white slope. Surrounded by a white veil of snow spinning all around me. So that I can barely see three feet in front of my face, and I am alone in this white fury, flying down like nothing else matters. I feel absolutely weightless. My body is fluid, in perfect unity with the board, and the snow, and the darkening twilight sky. And all I feel is the wind ruffling the edges of my jacket and pushing me on, into the white oblivion that has no end or beginning. And I smile ecstatic and tranquil at the same time. For I have never felt more free and alive than right now, dancing through the snow. The sound of the garage door opening suddenly thrusts me back to reality. My eyes focus on something, and see my own reflection in the raindrop on my window. I gaze down at the textbook in my lap, still opened to the same page it was an hour ago. With a sigh I get up and sit on the edge of my piano stool. My fingers trace the cold keys, their whiteness reminding me of the swirling snow. Life is like a snowstorm, I think. You struggle to survive while you wait for it to end, but then you realize that the best part was the struggle itself.

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