Shoes

Where are my shoes?
I’m looking to catch the next green signal,
Looking to avoid lanes glimmering red with brake lights and frequent red signals.
The present is often lost in navigating the throes of crowds and the ambitions of them.
And I never thought I’d find myself – Wanting to sneak away from this city, Sneak away from this life.
Like the other inhabitants of this city, I do want to get ahead and get away from a life spent in:
Trying to make things work under the internalised pressure of making things work.
But I could run towards isolation and suppression with alcohol and mindless dancing for company.
In a crowd, in a dimly lit room, under the presumption of a lit bachhanal, I walk with the gargantuan pressure of seeming okay, more than okay and projecting fancier, less eloquent and free wheeling versions of myself.
I lose my shoes then and this happens quite often.
They accomodate the varied measures of my feet and are cushy, comfortable and tolerant.
But when I lose the shoes, I’m forced to try on shoes that everyone else would want me to wear and what seemingly looks perfect but is hostile to my feet.
I could be stubborn and ask for my shoes back.
I could go with the flow and try on the new shoes.
But I’m waiting to be barefoot and okay with being here.

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