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.