Stillness

I find my way back to the womb of the ocean.

Walking at water’s edge, I can hear only the roar of breaking waves—finally, something louder than the ever-present, deafening silence of missing.

I collect shells.

Only the broken ones. The perfect specimen I leave behind for some lucky soul to find. For someone who isn’t shattered.

I gather shards of sea glass and pieces of shell until my hand overflows, then take off my hat and dump it all in... and continue.

I cannot walk mySelf whole. Cannot gather enough brokenness to mend my own gaping holes.

Sand between my toes... moist air filling my lungs... I gather them anyway. No one else gathers the broken ones.

I now collect them, my kindred spirits, and add them gently to the pile.