Today
is one of those days when your Nikes start squeaking.
Only my guy friends really get that reference.
The shoes that you’ve had for years- those black Nike Dunks, those coke-white Air Force Ones. They were your favorite pair of shoes; worn through the best and worst of times and never ever became scuffed, or dirtied. They made you look good. They made you feel…fucking. Amazing.
But none of that matters today, because today is the day that you were walking down the stairs and you heard a loud squeak coming from under the ball of your foot.
Shook, the good times together were the highest of highs. You remember the first time you walked into the party with them. In fact, they were solely responsible for giving you the courage to walk into that party in the first place. You wish that you could of told them.
But today you realize that every step forward you try to take with them, there’s a good chance that you may be destroying them from within.
Even in the worst of times, the days that we try desperately to forget but will always vaguely remember; the days walking home alone in the middle of the night. Heavy pessimism looming thick with the overcast showering us. Even then, during those walks, you knew that they were special. Especiale , even. You felt blessed to be with them. They were so profoundly wonderful that even though it was a bad time, it didn’t feel that bad, considering you were with them.
There is a squeak with every step. A sinking feeling, even. Your posture isn’t quite the same.
And today is the day that you realize you’re just wearing them out.
It’s been one of those days when your Nikes start squeaking.
That’s what today has been; and that’s what’s happened, both literally and figuratively.
I’m not really talking about my shoes, though.
It’s a sad, sinking feeling.
