Wise Old Shoes

July 18, 2012
By , Ottawa, Canada
Sometimes I wonder
If I could make my shoes talk
What words they would say

They are just a pair
Of Nike Airs
They're old and black and dirty
Yet they have seen
Disney, Italy, India,
And almost everything that documents
The last 3 and a half years
Of my still short life.

They have seen the way I shuffled nervously
The first time I was at your house
And the way I stormed out that last day
They have seen snowy driveways
And green May grass
I think they saw Grandma's funeral too.

Sometimes I wonder
If they would paint my past with colours
And remind me of all the little details
I had long forgotten
They might talk about wet sand
Or puddles
Or being left at home one night while we ran barefoot around town

I wonder if they were sore too After hours of walking on tiled floors
While we were dragged to shopping malls
Or from jumping too much on dance floors
I wonder if they minded, or were lost in the moment too

Maybe they would talk about my drum kit
Or maybe they would prefer to complain about my mother
Who looks at them with disgust
And much prefers my flats
But sometimes she is right
And maybe it's time they retire
They have been through an awful lot
Yet I dread goodbye
Because I still haven't heard their wise old stories yet

Maybe they could look back
On my mistakes
And muddy cross-country races
And laugh
And coach me forwards
For a better race
And a slower life

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