sol.ace_r

The way pollen drifts through the air feels like snow that never melts.

Even though it’s spring, it’s as if the season still carries a face that hasn’t fully passed.

Each time the wind blows, things lift lightly, then slowly settle back down.

Not as cold as snow, yet they fall onto the day in a similar shape.

Without even noticing where they’ve landed—on clothes, between strands of hair, and even in places the eye can’t easily see.

Even when brushed away by hand, they don’t completely disappear, as if they linger there for a moment before leaving.

Maybe that’s why I keep looking back as I walk past.

Wondering when so many of them appeared, when there had been none just moments before.

Like certain days that are hard to explain in words.
Slowly, very slowly, they spread.

I thought it was like falling snow, but looking closer, it’s not that they don’t melt—
they’re simply things that know how to stay.