The city walls and doors are whispering you the stories, true or false, about how and when and why they have seahorses on them. You pass them not just once and you still don’t get it. Their peculiar shapes, some are headless, some are monotonous, some are jazzy, they all have interesting moods. You want to give them names for they are nameless. You want to take them home, for they need protection. You want to feed and hug and kiss them, for they are alone, each of them. Even when they are together, no seahorse in this city is ever paired. You know the males are supposed to be the ones bearing the unborn young. You know they are monogamous and mate for life and you become all mushy thinking about those qualities. You still believe those seahorses have a certain purpose for us. You also believe that we should always respect their mysteries by not asking anyone about their origin.