They were old shoes,

Tattered and battered. Beat up and stained. Loved.

A woman’s shoe, sized nine. Converse, a dusty practical grey.

Secrets inked into the souls. Stitched into the seams.

Paint splattered. A rainbow of beautiful chaos.

Laces torn and frayed. But they still do the job.

Shoes who have walked a thousand miles, Ready to walk a thousand more.