The soles began to break off after this past summer ended. I haven’t worn them since. They were on my feet all throughout high school. They haven’t been since. I’ve taken many photos of them in various fields, movie theaters, sidewalks, alongside other converse who belonged to old friends, alongside other converse who belonged to friends I haven’t spoken to in years, alongside other converse who belonged to friends I speak to every week. I don’t talk much anymore. I never really did in the first place, but my converse heard every word. Perhaps they’ve gone deaf due to the immense silence they’re surrounded by now. A drastic change from the busy high school hallways they once frequented. Now, they’re in my old closet of my old bedroom of my old house in my old neighborhood. Hidden away behind the sliding door. Probably buried underneath other pairs of worn out shoes. Ones I also wore to death. Perhaps one day the Mary Jane’s I now wear everyday will succumb to the same fate. The Mary Jane’s that I once wore on special occasions have now become attached to my feet, apart of my day to day. They get dirty at work and running errands. I don’t clean them anymore. I haven’t since high school. Now, I’m too busy to clean what will inevitably become dirty again. Too busy to care. I don’t take photos of my Mary Jane’s.
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