Rock in my shoe
Wednesday, December 1, 2004
Placing this rock inside my shoe, slipping them onto my feet, I could smell the faint musty stench of the once hard-boiled love. Tying them tight, so that with every step the rock would dig deeper and deeper into my foot, leaving the shapeless mold indented into my skin. With every step I can feel the rock pushing itself further and further until I can feel the blood leaking into the rock.
Everyday I go through this pain, but with every step I take I just hope to be reminded of the steady joy I once held. I can almost taste the cool morning air wisping its way into our noses breathing new life into our cold bodies as we huddled together on the gravel riddled path. I can feel the pain, of the rocks as we traveled high above the mountain, beyond the sight of the birds and the bees. I can just remember it being worth it, I can almost remember why, as if the words, the reason and the emotion clings to the tip of my tongue, it’s there. But it doesn’t want to let go.
And apart of me doesn’t want to know. Apart of me enjoys the pain I endure, and all of me, the whole me can’t stop loving the now far too distant patter of our rhythmic feet pounding against the rocky ground. And our laughter drowning the soothing hymn of the birds echoing off the trees, leave me, the whole me, enthralled.
And today the sounds, the feelings, the emotion is all too forgotten.
I can’t smell the air, for it’s now still and stagnate; moving through it was more difficult then trekking up the trail that was replaced by the new super Wal-Mart. But I still hold the bloody rock pressed against my foot, pressing against my sole. All I can now feel is pain. But everyday I will place a rock inside my shoe. Hoping to feel the cool air again.
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