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[I always feel guilty when I throw away old shoes.  This is a breakup letter from the POV of a shoe that's been tossed.]


Shots of various sorts of garbage at a dump.


==


I'm useless when I'm single.


It's just the truth.


When you threw me away I didn't just lose a partner


but my other half that gave my purpose.


Who'll want me now?


 


You're gonna roll your eyes when I say this


I spent the best part of my soul on you.


"Spent" is the right word, because it's gone.


And with it, my grip on the world around me


I can't get it back. I can't hold on. 


I took you inside me


I held you under my tongue


and we became each other.


Does this sound over dramatic? Maybe it does.


For me it's literal, it's what happened.


 


What hurts isn't the big stuff.


The fact that I supported you for those years


I don't resent that


because that's what you do for a person.


It hurts more to remember the casual intimacy


when we sat somewhere, maybe you crossed your legs


and your hand without thinking rested on me.


Your fingertips, not with intent, but just there.


You knew me as if I was a part of you.


 


The same, on that last morning


in front of your house that I had thought of as ours.


The big things: you had someone new already,


I know. But that's not what hurts most.


It's the casualness. When it was time and you let me go, when you threw me away


(because that's what you did)


it was a little gesture, a little flick of the wrist.


Without hesitation. Just like that.


 


When you think of me now


you'll see me when we were together.


That's all that exists for you now, our times.


And now that you've tossed me out


for you I no longer exist.


But I'm still here.


==


End on a shot of a single shoe, rotting in a heap of garbage.

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