Broken Shells

There's something beautiful about broken shells.
It's not the fact that it is broken that's beautiful,
It's the mystery behind it.
Reaching down she picks up one piece.
Holding this one piece to the puzzle,
One piece to the heart.
Only hoping,
Who has the other parts
Are they scattered around the world,
Washing up on different shores?
Drifting slowly and helplessly to the bottom of the ocean?
Or in the hand of someone like her,
Wondering just who might be holding
The other half of her heart.

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