MY SHOES they stare at me, all lined up in rows, not color coordinated, or by date purchased, just…there.

THERE, my first pair of {not really real} UGG boots, the flip flops I made at summer camp, the beautiful swayed flats that broke the second day I wore them, the worn out converse with the soles barely hanging on, the other worn out converse…the ones I had to tape back together with scotch tape at school, the hand me down mary janes…the plaid ones that were always just a little too big at the back.

MY SHOES have held my feet, my sisters feet, my friends feet, they held the mud from that fight during field day, the house key the day I had no pockets, they held water when it rained and I ran to the bus stop so I wouldn’t be late when it turns out, the bus was late.

THEY also hold memories. The many memories that don’t fit anywhere else…
my shoes hold them instead.