so recently my mother forced me to clean out my shoe closet. there is almost nothing else in the world (other than the thought of being stuck in this town forever, watching myself singing on a huge projector in performance class or drinking spoilt milk) that causes me so much trauma. yeah yeah i know what your thinking, typical spoiled little teenager with no worries in the world. (i'll have you know i've very grateful for everything i have, so suck it) but to have to throw away my lil's babies, it makes the tears well up in my eyes. each shoe has a story to tell, at least a couple ridiculous accompnying memories or obstacles it too me to get them. my red heels are my first heels and the moment i put them on it was this revalation where is discovered that confidence (if even only an ounce) can be obtained from the right footwear. my graffiti converse and flourescent pink flats help me reminisce on my first trip to new york and walking through the wild streets of manhattan trying my very best to soak in every inkling of ultimate freedom and belonging. black heeled oxfords bring me back to strutting down an runway in toronto at a talent convention and old worn out flip flops and glatiator sandals relate to the idyllic summer nights where it felt like anything could happen. yeah, i know ultimately shoes arent the passport to happiness, and i could live without so many, but why should i give them up? why should i feel guilty for something i do enjoy, something that brings me confidence, something that allows me to add the perfect finishing touch to an outfit, something that makes the moment just that much more special. we all have our weaknesses, and fortunately for me mine is shoes, and not ben and jerrys double fudge ice cream or brittany spears music.
goodbye.
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