Hate Me, Desire Me
Tiny peaks sparkled under falling flakes when I shook it gently, and at the base, engraved in neat, unmistakable handwriting, were the words:
"For my little star — Eli."
The words carved at the base of the snow globe shimmered with meaning, echoing through every corner of my heart. I held the fragile glass in my hands, its weight pressing against my palms, and felt a swell of emotions that threatened to spill over. There was yearning—so sharp it left me breathless; there was gratitude and grief tangled together, a storm of memories and wishes I could never voice aloud.
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