She curls up like a snail inside
her shell, antenna poking out into the cold air, shifting this way and that, vibrating
to the dangers of the wide world without, no way to know her, she shifts shells
so quickly, never giving anyone the chance to climb inside the shell beside
her, to loo out to see what she sees, to feel each tremble she feels and to
sense what makes her so afraid. She is not the girl who sells sea shells by the
sea shore, but the one who inhabits them, to see which will fit her best,
knowing the whole time she well never get too comfortable in any of them, knowing
she will need to flee each sooner or later, and must be prepared to keep; from
being too attached.
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