I hate wearing wet shoes. Wet shoes make me remember, you know, times.
Times like wet shoes and rainy days; drenched feet and cold hands; busy people and long nights. Times like looking out the window, seeing old people, stray dogs and complete strangers; Times like staring at nothing long enough to hear raindrops falling and I am quiet.
Times when the wetness creeps up my legs to my thighs, to my stomach and to my neck then to my face. There surfaces an ache in my chest and a wetness of a different kind builds up. It falls from my eyes down to my cheek, to my chin and unto my shaking hands.
Unlike the raindrops when they fall, teardrops don’t make a sound.
Times like this I try not to frown so that one soul doesn’t notice. I look away and far away. I wonder how I got myself caught in the rain because my feet are hopeless.
I will always hate wearing wet shoes, walking in them, feeling close to my skin. Wet shoes make me miss all the good shoes I’ve ever had because good shoes never make me feel alone and almost never lonely.
You know, times – those lovely little times.