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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Some days, you …

Some days, you wake up feeling different. Something isn’t the way it should be. Light shines a strange way, people seem harsher and troubles are harder to accept.

For me, I just know it is going to be an off-day when I don’t even feel like watching “The Wolf of Wall Street” again.

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.