A New Pair of Shoes

I wonder what it will be like the next time I get one, get a new pair.

A new pair of shoes I mean. I’ll look for such different things in it. Qualifications, you could call them. The color, for one: I’ll choose that differently. It should match everything, but it shouldn’t be bland. It should strike attention without pulling away from the rest of me. Also the laces, they should be stronger next time. Even though I tied and tied them, even trying different ways, they seemed to always open right when I didn’t want them to: while on a run or carrying far too many things at the supermarket. I don’t actually know if it had anything to do with the laces at all, maybe I wasn’t tying right, but I hope and like to think it had nothing to do with what I was doing wrong. Well they weren’t the highest quality laces anyhow. Or maybe they were. Maybe it was the combination of the two.

The bed of the shoe should be softer next time. Or maybe harder? I don’t know what is better or what was wrong really, it just wasn’t right I guess. It didn’t feel right. At times I thought it was like walking on air or a tempurapedic mattress and sometimes I thought my feet were being flung at a brick wall, no warmth, no way to make up for the speed with which I was about to hit this barrier that was the floor. So, I guess I’ll have to see which is better. Because it felt so good to almost lose myself, or my feet I guess, in the softness of the shoes but that can’t be good either can it? You need framework, a solid build, right?

I guess the most important thing is that they have a good sole. A sole that can walk through any terrain and not let my feet come to harm. A stroll through shards or splitters should resemble a walk on the beach: that would be ideal. Something where I know I am protected, where nothing can get through. Things got through with my last pair. A lot did, in fact. I wasn’t protected much. I was at first, but not in the end. I guess that’s what happens to a pair of shoes, you walk, you run, you skip and stroll and tredge through the rockiest of terrains and at some point they can’t hold up anymore. The things you were protecting yourself from and what you thought your trusted pair of shoes would never let through, suddenly does. Exactly what you thought would never be let through. And it’s not their fault. They did the best they could. I think.

I don’t know. I guess in retrospect I don’t really know shoes that well at all.

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Which One

Sometimes it is in the word. 

 

“What are you doing?” She asked. 

“Lying.” She answered. 

And the other would never know for sure which one she really meant. 

 

Our Little Cupboards

“I know. I know we keep too many things. I know we keep too many things without knowing we’ve stored them away deep in a pitch black corner. That we don’t do it to keep them but just to know they existed. I know you kept things, things I might never see. Maybe I have too. I think we all have that tiny cupboard full of tiny things that are really the big things. The biggest things.”

“If you know that, why do you want them?”

“Because, I never want to be a tiny thing in your tiny cupboard, pretending not to be the big thing. The biggest thing. I never want to be shoved into the pitch black corner. I will take every tiny thing you have and I will adore it. All of them. Even the broken ones. Even the lost ones. Even the hidden ones. I want all of them.”Image

What if They Could Talk

If inanimate objects could talk:

My bed would love me, but it would tell me to visit it more and stop inviting other friends like laptop.

My car would unfriend me on Facebook and formally complain that: I don’t take good enough care of it, I sing off tune 100% of the time and that I should stop telling him the truth and instead tell the people who should hear it.

My bank account would tell me I am not invited to her birthday party.

My journal would confess that she misses me, and that she wishes I had something good to tell her so now and then.

My laptop would tell me to get out of his room and shut off the lights so he can finally go to sleep and try to shut down.

My books would beg me to visit them again and pay them the attention they deserve.

My toothbrush would tell me to stop forgetting what he looks like and that it feels like I am cheating on him with that pink Colgate girl.

My keys would exclaim that if I lose them one more time they will personally break themselves in half because I don’t even deserve to open doors.

My phone would tell me that no matter how many text messages or likes or notifications I get, it won’t make me happier. It won’t ever be the thing that wakes me up in the morning knowing it will be a good day, an important day. He would tell me not to wait, but to live, breathe, daydream, -heck- nightdream while you’re at it. He would tell me that he will come and go, just like sunlight and air and laughter and love and joy and heartache and raindrops and kisses and smiles. But he would tell me if anything, to give up on him. To secede him in order to preserve the others. That they have more they can give me.

I think if inanimate objects could talk they would know more secrets than we do ourselves. I think they would tell us the truth behind a person. They would tell us the truth behind a person because we aren’t afraid to tell them or show them what the secret meandering thoughts looming in our minds really are. We aren’t afraid to undress our secrets to them. What do they care, they can’t judge us, tell on us, spoil us, criticize us. All they are, are meager objects. But if they could talk, oh then maybe they would know me best of all.

 

I think if inanimate objects could talk they would tell us we can trust them, and that maybe sometimes we place too much worth on them. They would tell us they aren’t as important as we think they are. That one day, when our breaths are short, and our hair whispy grey, that our thoughts won’t dart to them, but to the experiences we had with them, on them, near them, because of them. They would tell us they are just the backdrop for our real lives. Our real lives, our big lives, our true lives.

Things People Said That I will never forget

Things People Said That I will never forget

 

 “I’m prettier.”

“Cass doesn’t like it when we tell her secrets that aren’t true.”

“Wir sind einfach nur richtig gut befreundet.” “We are just really good friends.”

“Do I need 8 castles? Yes.”

“Yeah, I need to stop talking like that.“ “Honestly, I never felt stupid saying those things. Did you?” “No.”

“Should we watch The Grey again?”

“Do you honestly want to know?”

“You’re doing a great job.”

“Wir sollten reden.” “We need to talk.”

“Hi Nandita, this is Ruma.”

“I will never break up with you.”

The First Time

“All of it?” She asked, turning around to look at him.

“Yeah, all of it.” He answered slowly, making sure she picked out the truth in his voice. Making sure she felt the certainty on his breath.

“Are you sure?”

“I am sure”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

“Even the broken ones?”

“Yes.”

“What if you hurt yourself? They’re not safe. I don’t know what could happen.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“What if I’m not okay?”

“I’ll hold them for you.”

“What if I forget some of them?”

“Give them to me when you find them.”

“What if I lost some?”

“We can look for them, but we don’t have to. Not if you don’t want to.”

“Some of them might be far away. It could be hard to get to them. You know how the years go by and we hoard and we pile and we consume and we collect and-”

“-I know”, he interrupted.

“You know?”

“I know. I know we keep too many things. I know we keep too many things without knowing we’ve stored them away deep in a pitch black corner. That we don’t do it to keep them but just to know they existed. I know you kept things, things I might never see. Maybe I have too. I think we all have that tiny cupboard full of tiny things that are really the big things. The biggest things.”

“If you know that, why do you want them?”

“Because, I never want to be a tiny thing in your tiny cupboard, pretending not to be the big thing. The biggest thing. I never want to be shoved into the pitch black corner. I will take every tiny thing you have and I will adore it. All of them. Even the broken ones. Even the lost ones. Even the hidden ones. I want all of them.”

“Ok.”

It was the first time someone had asked for it all. For everything. Every thought, every hope, every broken dream, every torn belief. Every atom in her being.

So, she gave him everything, hoping he meant every word he had said.