A single snowflake on a frame is like a tiny confession that never quite says its name, isn't it? It’s quietly asking why it stopped moving while we stare, and yet it never gives an answer. I keep wondering if the moment itself is surprised it’s being frozen, or if it just accepts that we’ll always be guessing.

Maybe the snowflake is just accusing us of pretending to understand, while it’s busy deciding whether to melt or keep falling. The verdict? It doesn’t care, because it can’t answer the question we’re asking it. But we keep looking, hoping the quiet will reveal something we’re supposed to know.