"sililoquy of the boot" part 1
Where in the boot finally gets to tell his backstory
We were the perfect team,
we fit each other
like a hand in a glove or,
in our case,
like foot and boot.
I was at the top of my game,
the best in the land.
No one could beat us;
I was living my purpose
full throttle.
The boy grew, I didn't.
Demoted, dejected, rejected—
passed down like last year's
hand-me-downs, to a girl.
From king of the hill
to queen of the slush?
I shuddered at the thought.
We didn't fit as well.
She was patient,
kind, and she loved me.
The boy used me,
she treasured me.
Such a different way
of being held.
I was holey,
not in the self-righteous way
of my youth,
but in the used-up,
cracked way
of aging.
She didn't care;
she did her best to
repair, mend, heal.
She was a tinker at heart,
a Creator and Healer at soul.
It wasn't her fault
nothing worked.
We spent a blissful
season together.
But even when that
season ended,
I wasn't discarded;
I was saved in the closet.
Safe, warm, happy.
Sure, eventually I was let go.
Everything was;
it was nothing personal.
It's what happens when
children grow, old folks die,
and closets are emptied.
I was set to be "reclaimed,"
but be it error or expedience,
I was liberated,
shot into the nether regions
of space and time.
I wasn't sure what this meant or what came next,
but since I wasn't
moldering in a dump
or incinerated in a sun,
there must be a purpose.
I must have a purpose!
Floating, dreaming, remembering—
better to have been loved.
Being successful is great, but
being loved is everything...
I had eons or seconds of this
when suddenly, pop!—
I was eyehole to eyeball
with the girl, now a woman,
who changed my existence.
Instant recognition,
warmth, connection,
gratitude, bliss.
Then she was gone.
I was alone,
but never alone...
In the way something
that has been well-loved
is never truly alone.
And she, well,
I will never really
let her go either,
always carrying bits
and pieces of her with me
wherever I go,
into whatever adventures lie ahead.
To be continued…..
