I don’t know how you got here, pulled into the surf to bounce off rocks and hulls and pecking beaks. Tossed by someone who didn’t see your beauty? Were you home to someone? Protecting them while you took the brutality of the sea? Did you lose them? Did they leave you? Outgrow you? The sun glimmers on your surface and the lapping waves deepen the richness of your colors. I see you and you are beautiful. I pick you up and contemplate your potential. A necklace pendant? Part of a sculpture or craft? Proudly on display in a clear glass hurricane? I tuck you safely in my pocket and put feet to sand, continuing my hunt. But I can’t stop thinking of you. How I found you and how stunning you are. Should I stop searching now that I have you? Or am I making assumptions and moving too fast? I want to know your story and understand who you are, but don’t leave out the ugly parts. I promise they will only make me love you more. We all have a past, mine screams at me sometimes. I’ve made peace with it for the most part but every now and then the scars stretch and itch, just enough to remind me they’re there. I acknowledge their presence, caressing the raised wound, grateful for the lesson. I breathe in acceptance and breathe out doubt as I put my hand in my pocket to hold you. I run my thumb along your smooth, underbelly, and over the ridges on your back. Strong. Resilient. Trustworthy. I will protect where your edges grow thin and promise not to poke at your weak spots. Shelter me and we can weather the next storm together. Till death do us part.
Seashell Magic
I don’t know how you got here, pulled into the surf to bounce off rocks and hulls and pecking beaks. Tossed by someone who didn’t see your beauty? Were you home to someone? Protecting them while you took the brutality of the sea? Did you lose them? Did they leave you? Outgrow you? The sun glimmers on your surface and the lapping waves deepen the richness of your colors. I see you and you are beautiful. I pick you up and contemplate your potential. A necklace pendant? Part of a sculpture or craft? Proudly on display in a clear glass hurricane? I tuck you safely in my pocket and put feet to sand, continuing my hunt. But I can’t stop thinking of you. How I found you and how stunning you are. Should I stop searching now that I have you? Or am I making assumptions and moving too fast? I want to know your story and understand who you are, but don’t leave out the ugly parts. I promise they will only make me love you more. We all have a past, mine screams at me sometimes. I’ve made peace with it for the most part but every now and then the scars stretch and itch, just enough to remind me they’re there. I acknowledge their presence, caressing the raised wound, grateful for the lesson. I breathe in acceptance and breathe out doubt as I put my hand in my pocket to hold you. I run my thumb along your smooth, underbelly, and over the ridges on your back. Strong. Resilient. Trustworthy. I will protect where your edges grow thin and promise not to poke at your weak spots. Shelter me and we can weather the next storm together. Till death do us part.