Ice Princess

He's turned back into dust.

I knew him shiny and happy, way too beautiful for this world.
We used to sit next to each other at drawing lessons and spend the whole time talking about everything, movies, books, painters we both like and other random assorted gossip.
He was almost my opposite, he had spent his short life inventing a character for himself that matched his aesthetical obsessions.
While I used to feel like a punk rocker wearing a pair of ripped jeans, he wore a hair band with an ethnic white shirt, collars and silver rings on all his fingers. His eyebrows resembled María Félix and his elegant Oscar Wilde/Quentin Crisp manners were worthy of note.

I kept my distance from his coffin last night, surrounded by flowers and mourning relatives. I hugged his brothers and sisters and sat by myself amazed by some reticent tears… The Ice Princess is melting down.

Ice is supposed to liquefy.