Snow.

I grab the soft white snow in fists
Clenching it hard before letting it fall between my fingers

It melts under my fingernails, slips through the cracks of my hands

And floats slowly to the ground covered in more of itself

It becomes one, all Snow, one word and nothing more

It joins it’s billions, trillions of brothers and sisters on the ground

Becoming one hive mind, one word, Snow.

If you kick it, it’s still Snow.

If you mold it, it’s still Snow.

If you hit it, it’s still Snow.

You can mold it into the shape of a person, decorate it like one, and call it a person,

But it is still Snow. 

And it will melt.