My Old, Favorite Shoes

Today I went out. Out of habit, I reached for my favorite shoes. Worn beyond recognition, not so worn out, but already worn out. Patched, sewn, glued. My favorite shoes! Whenever I do, I reach out to put them on. There is some attraction in these shoes, something that prevents me from throwing them away and I always reach for them first. I'll take them out of my closet when I remember. In fact, when I want and I can. For now, I neither want nor can. Someone had told me that today's relationship between lovers ends quickly because no one fights for them. Because when one sees difficulty, instead of fighting, he abandons the other. Just like shoes - before, when they were torn, people sewed them, and today they just throw them away. But people used to have nice, strong, handmade shoes. The people themselves were different, better and stronger. Now people are cheap, the shoes they wear are also cheap. My old, sweet and favorite shoes are still standing in the doorway waiting for me to put them on. I know that if I do, they will fall apart on my feet. Then I will feel the most terrible cold a human being has ever felt. And I know that if I put them on, even if they fall apart, I will continue to carry the rest of them on me. That's why I don't put them on. And I don't know why I don't throw them away ... They are like our relations - patched, sewn, glued, but ... worn out. I keep the memory of them in my heart and always reach for it, but I do not touch it. I know that if I do, if it all starts over, it will fall apart with a bang on my heart. Then I will feel the most terrible cold a human being has ever felt. Then I will not be able to withdraw, I will carry the rags of old memories, which will burn on my soul tired of insults and broken promises. That's why I don't touch them. And I don't know why I don't throw them away ...