photo by https://unsplash.com/photos/man-standing-on-body-of-water-4UexhWLVcnY
At first glance, it’s just ice.
Cold, silent, endless.
But when I look longer, I see stories trapped beneath the surface — years of waiting, centuries of whispers.
Maybe we’re not so different.
We too hide our memories beneath layers, pretending they no longer hurt.
Pretending the silence is peace, not distance.
The glacier moves, almost invisible to the eye, but it moves.
Every crack, every shimmer of light on its surface, tells me that even frozen hearts still shift — still search for warmth.
I wonder how many unsent letters sleep under that ice.
How many goodbyes were never spoken, only swallowed by time.
And yet, the glacier remains — proud, ancient, unbroken.
It doesn’t rush to melt. It doesn’t chase the sun.
It simply is.
Maybe that’s the lesson.
To move slowly, to carry the weight without losing form.
To endure — quietly, faithfully — until something within finally softens.
Like a soothing lyrics of a beautiful poem. Good composition
christybliss,thank you so much.
To warm up, we must move. From experience, the cold tends to numb us, and then death follows. Memories are flames that keep us alive, like the stories of the decades that this giant block of ice holds within it.
Beautifully said, I appreciate and thank you for such a nice comment.