Light and fleeting, making you feel like your walking, and you have places to go, like you could walk up walls, and across the ceiling, or find out what makes the sky crack open, like you could make music with them, or dance, or run faster than the clouds race across the gray skies or tell you things, deeper than you ever thought you’d go, further than you’d ever thought you could reach, as you hold on to your dreams with all that you have in you and wish that there was something more. Listen to the tiny ones sing, or feel your ear ache with melody and music carriers, and forget that you had something to block the rain, or how your spirit seems to extend all around you, like a dream, making you sense whats in your bag, and that the person across from you may be a kind-hearted kindred soul after all, wishing that there were pages , reams for you to remember so that you have words to say, because without words you are nothing. Faint pipes and eastern music fill the spaces between these walls and hold you still, no matter how shoddy and ramshackle and tainted this place seems there’s something so human about it all, and your shoes somehow know that, no matter what you say, they brought you here.
When they are high and painful, they make you feel different from when they are low and flat and stylish, when people on the train look, they look at shoes, (I do that, I’m sure you do too) and they think about the people wearing them. How we’d like to say they tell us a lot about the person wearing them, except they were probably on sale, or displayed extravagantly, or cheap, or available, or comfortable, and that’s why they sit there, on your feet.