Celebrate
"I love these shoes," you take out a pair of them which are pink, the ones that could go well with your baby pink frock with frills.
You won't stand a twitch of my nose and a no. You know you are special - at least when we shop on your birthday.
"Why don't you wear them and see whether they fit?"
"They will, I know!"
And you are right. How I wish I knew what I needed, and whether it did fit me! My ankles strain a lot on these stylish, sharp shoes, but I can't get rid of them. That's part of what I should be. My comfort goes out of the door as I choose what I am expected to wear. Well, my shoes speak a lot about me, even though what I do is to pretend to be what I should be. I please bodies, and get paid for it. I don’t know what you would think of it once you get to know it.
You run fast towards me, and the next moment you are standing on my shoes, and we are doing that silly dance together. It hurts, but I pretend to feel nothing. After all, I am doing what I feel like doing now. This hurt I hide is something that I want to hide.
We walk out of the shop, after all the purchases. I wish I could take a day off tomorrow as well, but I can't. Let's retain the celebratory mood, anyway.
"Would you like some ice cream?"
"Of course!" You screech.
I choose your favourite one for you. I wait for a moment, and then choose my favourite one, for myself. Your eyes widen, and you smile.
"You're giving a treat to yourself too?"
"Yes, but I hope you will soon give me a treat once you grow up."
"Sure," you say.
I don't know whether you will remember this promise. You may even forget the whole day. Your shoes are not going to last more than six months. You will outgrow them before I know. You will outgrow these feelings someday as well. Perhaps, it's better that way. This empty shell will have to disintegrate as it should, on its own. The moment you know what I am, you may hate me. But let's celebrate today, and every day, till you know.
"I love these shoes," you take out a pair of them which are pink, the ones that could go well with your baby pink frock with frills.
You won't stand a twitch of my nose and a no. You know you are special - at least when we shop on your birthday.
"Why don't you wear them and see whether they fit?"
"They will, I know!"
And you are right. How I wish I knew what I needed, and whether it did fit me! My ankles strain a lot on these stylish, sharp shoes, but I can't get rid of them. That's part of what I should be. My comfort goes out of the door as I choose what I am expected to wear. Well, my shoes speak a lot about me, even though what I do is to pretend to be what I should be. I please bodies, and get paid for it. I don’t know what you would think of it once you get to know it.
You run fast towards me, and the next moment you are standing on my shoes, and we are doing that silly dance together. It hurts, but I pretend to feel nothing. After all, I am doing what I feel like doing now. This hurt I hide is something that I want to hide.
We walk out of the shop, after all the purchases. I wish I could take a day off tomorrow as well, but I can't. Let's retain the celebratory mood, anyway.
"Would you like some ice cream?"
"Of course!" You screech.
I choose your favourite one for you. I wait for a moment, and then choose my favourite one, for myself. Your eyes widen, and you smile.
"You're giving a treat to yourself too?"
"Yes, but I hope you will soon give me a treat once you grow up."
"Sure," you say.
I don't know whether you will remember this promise. You may even forget the whole day. Your shoes are not going to last more than six months. You will outgrow them before I know. You will outgrow these feelings someday as well. Perhaps, it's better that way. This empty shell will have to disintegrate as it should, on its own. The moment you know what I am, you may hate me. But let's celebrate today, and every day, till you know.
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