For once, this post is not about writing.
It is not metaphorical, philosophical, or prescriptive.
No, this post is just a story. A story about true love. The kind that lasts forever.
It starts with a glance, ignites with a cautious touch. A furtive experimentation, followed by a gasp of excitement.
“It fits!” Then, “Oh my God, it looks so good!”
Then comes the commitment phase. Others are discarded to make room in the cart, then the wardrobe. Money changes hands. You ask yourself how long it will be until the shoes have earned their value back. Seconds, you think, walking taller and feeling better than you ever have before.
But, seasons change. Heels break. Eventually, you’ll look down at those hunter green rubber Wellingtons or those red plaid spiked stilettos and think, “Your time to shine has obviously passed. Fare thee to Goodwill, old friends. I have no more place for you in my life.”
It will seem like a pragmatic decision, at least at the time. But later, you’ll wonder…did you say goodbye too soon? Could your love have lasted another season? How many more steps might you have taken together?
(At this point, my husband would like it noted that my repetitive allegorical references to story and shoe adultery are skeeving him out. For that, I am sorry, but not sorry enough to stop. Because it’s hilarious.)
So I will end with this. To all the shoes I have loved before, you are remembered. I search my closet still, casting aside newer soles haphazardly, hoping somehow that I will find you–not gone, but tucked away.