Snowman | Siaв

For weeks, they were inseparable. The Snowman didn't just sit there. When the moon was high and the world was quiet, he would dance on his stick legs, turning in circles, leaving little twig marks in the snow.

“Don't cry,” he seemed to say, his snowy breath misting in the air, “just know that I’ll be here forever.” SiaВ Snowman

“Come with me,” the Snowman seemed to whisper. “Let’s go where the snow never melts.” For weeks, they were inseparable

When the morning sun broke through the clouds, the snowman was gone. In his place was only a wet, shimmering patch of white, and the red scarf lying on the grass. “Don't cry,” he seemed to say, his snowy

In the quiet, icy silence of the backyard, Sia built him. He wasn't just any snowman; he was fashioned from the purest, softest snow of the season, with eyes made of black coal that seemed to sparkle with a quiet mischief and a long, orange carrot nose. She wrapped her own red woolen scarf around his neck and whispered a promise: "Don't ever leave me, Snowman."

Sia loved him, but she knew the secret of winter—it never lasts.

He knew they couldn't stay. He looked at her one last time, his smile slightly crooked as his face started to melt, holding onto the memory of her warmth.