05-05-2012, 11:31 PM | #1 |
Senior Member
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Her shoes.
My whole life I felt that I should be some amazing writer who captured our
time in a grand masterpiece and it would be recalled throughout the ages and shown brightly next to Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Keller. Now as I sit here tonight sightly drunk and in a complex depression I find the only subject I can manage to write about are her shoes. Sitting on my floor they seem almost docile however I know that they have more significance than anything else in this tiny apartment. They are a token of love and a sign of true happiness because of these shoes I have been reminded that this woman is more perfect for me than anyone else on the planet. A feat I never thought possible and yet here tonight I sit with her shoes next to me and still I can't seem to get past this depression I find myself in. My only release is to write and perhaps that is how I will be remember as a writer, by allowing my words to flow when I am at my weakest. Still her shoes invade my thought still they captivate me and leave me to wonder how they would feel on my feet. Society would deem those thoughts taboo no matter how progressive our society proclaims to be now. If I where to step out my door right now with those shoes on and someone were to see me they would ridicule me. Why? Why is our society so caught up in what is right and wrong that they lose focus of how short life seems to be? I don't intend for this to be a question in which this whole story is written about, but instead it is simply the tangent which will lead me back to my original topic of her shoes. Black, 3 inch heel, strap across the top, and leather. I move them closer to me and I begin to wonder, why do I care if society see them as taboo? Am I no better than society for conforming to these boundaries set forth by them? I have, but one life to live and yet I am content with spending it indoors making checklist and goals to live my life by. Yet her shoes provide an out, they provide my escape from these constraints, but the question remains am I willing to accept that society will still find all this very taboo and am I willing to deal with the consequences of the reactions. Still I am losing focus on the point here, her shoes, they mystify me on her feet, on my feet, on the floor, just being the shoes that they are and what they represent they intoxicate me with freedom, with life, and with happiness. Can a pair of shoes really do so much for me or am I simply to drunk to understand that there are restrictions on life for a reason. Don't get me wrong I am a Christian though sometimes I am guilty of doubt, but aren't we all? Still is it so wrong to wear shoes you are comfortable in? I am by knows means homosexual, I love my fiance dearly and she loves me which is why she left these shoes with me as a reminder that no matter who I turned out to be she would love me. How could a pair of shoes raise so many thoughts and feelings in my mind? As I slip on the shoes instantly I am reminded that her love for me runs beyond attraction, she looks past what the world deems important and loves me for who I am and I in turn love her for that. The shoes almost beckon me to venture out into the cold darkness of the world and to show them off, but still I restrain. I sat down looking at the shoes with the intention of writing a short work about how I felt wearing the shoes and I thought I would in turn in some clever way end up writing something about how society was too caught up in itself, but I guess I have revealed that I am no better than the rest of society because I, too, am so caught up in myself that I started out writing about shoes and ended up focused on nothing, but myself. Unlike society though I am willing to change this because right now I am going to stop writing this useless short rant and walk outside. I am only stepping out onto my back porch, but as far as I can tell I will have done more to move my life forward in these few steps than I have spending all day moping around inside my apartment. Her shoes, tonight my inspiration.
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This is a space in which I am supposed to write something funny and witty and everyone is supposed to read it and chuckle a little. (I am just telling you what it is for) |
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