Seashells

I remember

sitting on the shore,

thinking that seashells

can’t be sold

next to something so

immensely special

as the sea.

And there I was,

watching as you loved her

and forgot to love me.

I remember

working on a farm,

pulling away at the grub

and grime and

finding a kind of relief

after a long day

of work.

But I’m still raking and harvesting,

trying to start anew,

yet you lurk.

I wasn’t always the type

to remember people

so easily as I

can remember equations.

I didn’t mean to switch

my motives and fall in love,

but love has its own motive.

So Cupid continues to remind us

that love is folly and senseless,

like selling seashells next to the sea.

But I need his seashells to live.

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