If everyone surrounding me were grains of sand on the beach, then you're a seashell.
Something I don't often get. And occasionally when I do, you might not be in a whole. Beautiful, still beautiful, but not in a whole.

Or you're like the tide. I'll just wait, and yearn. For your arrival.
Because I am stagnant, still, like the shore. Because my heart is already yours, lost in your currents.
If only, you buried your heart in my sands. Then I'll hide it deep, deep beneath.
But no, you keep it with your waves.
Waters change. I'm so afraid.