Walking Worn

They sit there, a battered relic,

a testament to miles, to storms,

these shoes, scuffed, with tales unspooled,

each crack a memory caught in leather—

I lace them up, the first time in weeks,

the creak of the soles, a song of history,

footprints trace back to laughter and rain,

to a moment when everything mattered.

I walked through puddles and soft-lit nights,

held my breath in an autumn embrace,

a journey tethered to all that I was,

my heart echoing with every step taken,

each dirty sole, a well-worn rhyme—

i remember how they held me,

a canvas of moments well fought.