Pain

Uck, it just stopped snowing.

Sure, snow is pretty at first when it's still all white and perfect and peaceful, but the morning after, when you get all excited and go out with your camera, it's already slushy and brown.
I'm sure this symbolizes how easily innocence is lost, or something of the sort, but I don't know.
Really, snow is not at all poetic.
Poets who compare snow to purity and virginity and soft blankets obviously never lived in Wisconsin.
When you're walking to the bus stop in the morning, all you think is, it's fucking cold and my pants are frozen solid!!!