I went back last night…
To the place you promised that I’ll always find you,
You said I could come there and be with you when I’m cold, confused and lonely.
I was none of that.
I just missed you.
And I had to return your pair of shoes. You had given it to me last summer.
I love the shoes, you know.
I like how the laces are always curly.
I loved the neon shoe-strings.
I loved the marks of cigarette stubs under the sole.
I love the shoes.
But they are yours, right?
I really don’t know how I end up loving something that’s never mine.
More notably, what is yours.
But, if this isn’t yours, then I really don’t want it.
I guess that’s why I don’t know what to do with myself. Coz I’m not yours either.
I walked up the path that led to our castle you had built, with rotten wood,
But you weren’t there.
Not that I knocked to check. I just knew.
I carefully kept your shoes on the floor.
I didn’t place them on the rocking chair outside.
I was afraid that the chair will rock and the shoes will go to sleep.
And if they do, they’d dream.
And if they’d dream, they’d dream about us.
But those nice shoes…actually great shoes, would get hurt if they dream about something that can never happen.
I know how it feels when a dream shatters.
I’ve walked that lane before.
In your shoes.
But today, I’ll walk in mine.
So that I can finally realize what it feels to be myself.
So that I can finally grasp that it’s finally over.
So that I can move on.
Move on, in my own shoes.
They aren't very comfortable.
The laces don’t curl.
The shoe strings aren’t neon.
And they don’t have cigarette stubs under their sole.
I’ll learn to love them eventually.
And then one fine day, when the rotten wood perishes, and the rocking chair breaks due to the added burden of the lies you tell yourself,
When your door falls off its hinges in the anticipation of a knock,
When your shoes aren’t comfortable anymore,
You’ll finally learn to love them, to want them.
Till then, I say goodbye.
At least try to keep your shoes clean,
So what if your heart isn’t?