The Last Pair

The Last Pair

There is a certain sadness in outgrowing a space.
Growth is silent and you won’t notice it
until you hit the inner shell of your reality
Like when your toes hit the tip of your shoe as a child
when it was time to get a new pair
But as a child nobody questions growth
Your parents buy a new pair, you chose the color, maybe the motive
And for the next few months life has space again
You are not limited anymore, your toes have wiggle room.

As an adult, growth is painful, because nobody expects it.
In fact it is heavily discouraged because once you outgrow those
who want to keep you contained, you make an enemy.
Because it is easier to stop you than to keep up with you.
So growth becomes lonely, because life is a spectrum of trauma bonding.
And when you choose to heal,
you forget your mother tongue.

You connect with cities, you feel they are like a mold around your soul.
Then your toes hit reality again and you move on.
You meet people that you call friends, maybe even love.
Those feel like the people who get you.
Soon the world they curated for their own stability suffocates you.
And you create cracks by asking questions
And you move on, because you have to.

And the more often you move on, the less people you meet.
But the people you do meet are extraordinary.
Looking back on your path you see versions of yourself left behind
Like outgrown shoes in the memories of those you called friends.
There is no real end to this journey.
There is only the choice of how lonely is too lonely.
And which person is so important to you
that you do not want to leave them behind.