Sneakers and things.

I like to think about all the things the soles of my shoes have seen. All the sunsets and the angels with wings too small to let them fly. I like to think about the stones they've stumbled on and the cars they've been in while I slept, the classes they've been in while I slept, the closets they've been in while I slept. I think about the people they've seen -- the girl across the room in my math class and the boys across the sandwich shop and the woman in line in front of me at the grocery store. I think about all the kisses they've seen and the coffee shops and corners of the mall that I don't go to anymore. I think about the way the soles of my shoes have seen me cry a lot and laugh a lot and forget a lot of things that I don't want to remember anymore.


And I think about all the times the soles of my shoes have seen you. They've noticed the way you breathe, you know? They've noticed the way you sit and the way you move and the way your hair falls. The soles of my shoes would recognize your handwriting anywhere. They've noticed the colors in your eyes, yeah? Yeah. People forget to notice the colors in other people's eyes sometimes, I forget to notice the colors in other people's eyes sometimes, but the soles of my shoes have seen the colors in yours, and they're a fan. (I know because they told me so.)


What I really like to think about is all the things the soles of my shoes will see before I die. All the libraries and more sunsets and angels with wings that are big enough to actually lift them off the ground. More kisses? Yeah, the soles of my shoes will see more kisses. I like to think about the streets of Paris and Rome and Tokyo and the Louvre, like a city of its own. I like to think about all the fire escapes they'll see.


And you. I like to think about looking down the row someday, looking down the pew, and seeing you sitting there again, and how the soles of my shoes will see me looking, and they will see you, and they will love you like I love you, even though we don't seem to come around often enough. But we still love you, the soles of my shoes and I.


Yeah, we still love you, the soles of my shoes and I.


Shipwrecked Medusa.
All my love,
Addy