On a rainy exploration that ended several hours later than originally planned, I was left with the bravest decision to let go of my favorite pair of flats.

I walked around a city, home to a millions of lives, and road gutters. It amazed me to a deep extent how adults, teenagers, a retired old couple, or even a street rat could all coexist happily in one place. Every wall and every path etched with innumerable stories, yet here I was looking up to a cloudy sky and wondering how even a thunderstorm didn’t shake the faith or the lives of these millions.

I took one last look at my flats, drenched from an entire day of walking around in puddles of joy. As the night fell, I asked myself.

“Should I take you back with me?”

My flats seemed to look 50 shades darker than grey. It seemed tired.

“I kept you company for quite a while, it’s time to cut me some slack, Salma.”

“Alright, flats. You’ve been a good friend.” I sighed.

As I bid a bittersweet farewell to this heavily stormy city, I realized I was jealous. My flats that had been part of my life from the frequent trips to McDonald’s or even to my regular classes, was back in a land of mystery and fairytales. A land where a cow and people would cross the street at the same time, and no one seemed worried about it. A land where millions would arrive to find ‘inner peace’.

Not soon after my vigorous thought process regarding the feelings of my now-old pair of flats, my dad seemed worried.

“Are you sure you’re okay with these?” he asked me.

I nodded.

“We’ve got stories to write”, I told my shiny flats.

 

 

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