Days.

I love snails. 

I let them crawl up and down my arms as a child 

I giggled when they tickled me.

My Grandmother boiled them.*

I remember them bubbling and swelling in the water.

They slowly tore away from their shells 

There they floated, dead and exposed to the world.

I tried to keep them safe,

like a friend keeping a secret.

Crunch.

My heart breaks when I unexpectedly break their houses with my clumsy feet.

The squelch reminds me of their slippery, fragile bodies.

Reminiscent of how much joy they used to give me,  

I feel like I've betrayed them every time it happens.

Poor snails.

*I really love my grandmother. Don't judge her. Snails are just the bane of her existence.