Not long ago, by chance, I stumbled upon an empty shell while walking aimlessly on the sea shore. I picked it up. As cold as it was, there was something special about it, I was instantly drawn to it. I liked it so much that I took it with me. Time continued to pass and I became inseparable from it. Even though it was just a hollow carcass, I was more attached to it every day. It offered nothing in return, it was merely a witness, a voyeur of my life, a silent listener of my nonsense. Or not even that. You need to be alive to see, to listen, but my shell had nothing alive in it. Getting more and more fond of it, I started needing it more, I started wanting more from it. I knew it was irrational of me to expect anything from it, what can I get from something hollow, cold, dead? I knew it would never answer my questions, that it would never be warm for me when I'm cold. My attraction for that beautiful carcass was getting in the way of my well-being. I had only one thing to do. I couldn't continue holding the shell so I went back to the place I found it. I looked at it for one last time and without thinking too much, I threw it back in the sea. That's where it belonged. On my way home I had a strange feeling I was missing something...
