Two Flakes

There can be no two snowflakes, it's said, alike. Spiky, unique signatures meant no two were the same — as unique as fingerprints. Even identical twins have different fingerprints, he thought.

Here on his window were impacted snowflakes, bragging their tales of unrepeatable structure. He held his magnifying glass to the glass, and he could easily see their shapes, their impacts backlit by the sun.

So beautiful, he thought, like my Emily.

She, too, was as unique as any solitary snowflake. She was soft and kind and good and as pure as the driven snow. He chuckled at the cliché.

How could he not love her? Her visage was special, God-made, and unrepeated, anywhere. There could never be anyone like her. He was so lucky to have met her, and he would love his Emily forever. No other woman could ever take his mind off of her. A forever love.

He was as different from her as any flake was from another. Perhaps that's why it worked. Yes, opposites do indeed attract. He loved her smile and her laugh.

He continued studying the window flakescape. About midway through his appraisal he stopped, quite startled. Could it be? he thought in astonishment.

Side by side stood two identical snowflakes, breaking every universal law of asymmetry. He ran to get his camera. This was certainly big news! Two snowflakes actually exactly the same!

This is when he realized that there might be another one as special as Emily, out there, for him.