The battered scallop
When you told me you kept a seashell your grandmother gave you, you allowed me to see something. Our conversations fill me with wonder, as they are small revealings, tempting prompts that lead to something more, yet are endlessly satisfying on their own. You are a mystery, an enigma, like a seashell without a story. Had you not told me the story, I never would have known where it came from, what it meant, how it made you feel. It is a small treasure, yet it travelled an unknown number of miles. So it is with the heart that carried it. Without revealing yourself, little by little, line by line, I never would have stopped to ponder, probe, to discover more. You stopped me in my tracks, not overtly, but tenderly. Simply by being yourself. Other men may not notice what a man of patience and maturity sees. You are not ordinary. You are captivating, in a deep and wonderful way. This isn't about a shell. This is about your heart. Like that shell, you don't have to shout to ge...