Broken Seashell...

“It’s broken,”
He says, as he throws the not so whole seashell back onto the sandy shore.
     I stare at it.
Such compassion and sorrow felt for such a small thing,
Just a little strange, with a whole lot of familiar.
     And I soon finally realize the reason why,
I too am the broken seashell.

I pick up the fragile shell in my fragile hands,
Turning it side to side in profound wonder.
     I wonder the story you have.
The years you have seen.
The animals that have come to live inside,
And the animals that only leave with a piece of you under their sleeves.
     But you have survived.
I too am the broken seashell.

You have survived the animals, the waves and the passerby’s.
     You are still together.
Welcoming others in to admire the beauty,
 Or allowing them to stay and make you a home.
You do not hide in the sand but proudly let the wave carry you on to shore.
     Not letting the fear of being crushed or left behind keep you buried.
I too am the broken seashell.

So I place the lovely shell in my pocket.
     It weighs heavier than a large anchor,
Yet relieves my heart of so much I still feel lighter.
     I will cherish this token forever,
As a reminder,
I too am the broken seashell.