Wcbrown514
05-05-2012, 11:31 PM
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.
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.