The Boots

February 2, 2013
I saw him sitting on the curb, feet buried in the snow, hands placed over his head.
I walked up to him slowly, and I reached for his hand.

“Are you lost?” I asked him.

He gazed up at me, and I stared into the stranger’s grey eyes for what seemed like a lifetime.

“Do you know where I am?” he mumbled under sobs.

I sat alongside him, and we both listened to the midnight thunder.
I looked at him, rain falling from strands of dark, ratted hair.
The wind whispered to me a soft and gentle request. I knew what was meant of me.

“Come with me” I told him. Together, we walked.
Our footprints were proportional to one another’s.
That’s when I looked down, and noticed he hadn’t any shoes on his feet.

“Who are you?” The man asked me. His voice was quiet and crisp, mysterious, yet kind.

“I am your friend.” I told him in reply.

“I don’t remember you.” The man’s face was pale, and cold to the touch.

“No need. Just take my shoes.” With that, I handed him my boots.
The man slipped the boots on his feet, they fit perfectly.

I led the man to a fire. We sat alongside it in silence, admiring the beauty of the night sky, stars and all.

The next morning, I woke, and he was gone. The wind had stopped calling to me.
Perched on the ground were my boots.
And wrapped around me was his jacket.

The man had vanished.

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