I had an idea for this post this morning while writing longhand. It’s phrases condensed and crackled under my fingers. This is perfect. It said everything I wanted to say.
It’s gone now.
I won’t go looking for it, I know what I’ll find. Another shell left on the beach of my mind, the animal that animated it long departed, slipped back into the depths.
And yet how many times have I held a shell and smiled at its fragile beauty, the cracks that break it, the flash of color near its hinge.
Put it on the mantle in your house, next to the portrait of your mother and the ivory box you bought in Spain, a memory of our time together, no longer just a shell.