Crashed into like a meteor, the crater has been dug deeper; the hole at the toe of my shoe has almost been all the way worn through.
In the shape of an uncaptured crack of lighting, it’s a rip up through the fronts of the leather; the sliver at the toe of my shoe has worn away the shininess that was once a sight for sore eyes.
The gray haze of smoke surrounding the sole, just like the smudges of the ash—the skid marks at the toe of my shoe has discolored the cleanliness of the rubber making me an inch taller than I really am.
All three of my most worn shoes have indents, scratches, and mucked-up casts. Not only have these shoes been trekking with me around the world, but they’ve also been shown bitter neglect.
When I first got my Doc Martens, I was captivated with keeping their clean exterior as close to its original state as possible, but over time, the carelessness of multiple hikes in the woods made me forget the value I once put in them.
My Converse are replaced every year while the original, dirty pair hunker down in the back of my closet, collecting dust, and watching as I restock and replace them for every new chapter of my life.
Along with these once glorified shoes, my Nike tennis shoes, which I would only wear on the court, have dirt and grass stuck to the indents of the soles from my careless runs around the high school.
While I still wear my Docs and tennis shoes on a daily basis, I would happily replace them if I was given the opportunity—just like my multiple pairs of Converse.
Growing up, I didn’t consider my appearance and the shoes that I wore, but now that I’ve examined my style, I realize how relevant shoes are to my ever-changing aesthetic. Not only do my shoes keep the bottoms of my feet protected, they also hold the individuality of my life.
I take them off every day after school and throw them to the back of my closet only for me to put them back on tomorrow morning. I never give them enough credit for everything that they do for me. The little details that keep me going have been at the forefront of my mind recently, and I’ve always overlooked my shoes.
Just like tap water and electricity, I could never see what life would be like without my shoes; you are my shoes.
Not that I could ever replace you, but every time I see your smile, I overlook it just like my shoes. I’m used to seeing you every morning and every night, but our passing has become so routine that it’s like lacing up my shoes from a young age.
I don’t want us to become like everyone else, strangers that have familiar smiles, but the little rips in the toe of my shoe remind me of you. You are not batted and broken but something that I notice every day.
I don’t want to take advantage of my shoes, and I definitely don’t want to take advantage of you.