Seeing

Tsumori Chisato and Alexander Wang.

On the soles of leather-laden, bucked, rain-proof beautiful, imusthaveyoushoes – 

And behold they were less than 300 pesos – and it has reached a point when in matters of less than

(4)four;

or

(5); cinq; five digits I nay have to choose between going home or staying in these dusty aisles wherein I have deigned to “duck” or “dry myself” whilst the rain presses on in the outside world

[… and all the other people trying, trying, trying to get home, fighting for even an extra hour of “earlyness,” to catch a show, to get to choose what to wear to sleep, if sleep will be legit, because tomorrow it’s all the same, same, tiresome cycle again]

And I actually felt a tear coming on – 

Because they were too small for me.

And I just had to stop myself because that morning

I did stop myself from crying as we bid the great professor and mentor goodbye.

And now I remember how painful the moment was (I will not admit which one was more) that I had reminded myself by way of digital memo to commit this to

blog-memory.

To say “will write for shoes” is pointless when nothing fits.

No wonder the evil stepsisters were willing to cut their fingers off.

The price for diamonds on your feet which means you never need walk a step towards what you want ever again.

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