The Shell - A teenager reflects
By Curtis Hildebrand
curthildebrand@gmail.com
I sit in my shell, waiting to be found.
I long for someone to look for me; to share themselves with me.
Will anybody pause long enough to let me peek out and say a word or two of special meaning?
Will anybody ever want to know who I am?
As I search every street corner for someone who will care,
I begin to run out of streets to search.
Is there anyone who won't run away?
Is there anyone who will understand me?
Is there anyone who can understand me?
Vainly I wander the earth.
I know that out there somewhere is a searching soul who is waiting to be found by me;
just as I am waiting to be found by him.
Someone who is waiting for a listening ear, a caring heart.
Someone for whom I can pick up my chisel and begin to chip away at the years of rejection and loneliness, then set his soul free.
And hope he returns the favor.
Until that time I will continue my wearisome search.
I know the potential for love and laughter that saturates my soul.
I know that, if given the chance, I could be a devoted, caring soul mate.
My hope has not yet faded.
My lantern has not yet gone out.
I reach out to love but get none in return.
But I know that one day soon I will be freed from my tomb.
Until that time I will sit in my shell.
Sit, waiting to be found.
Expecting little.
Receiving less.
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