Walk with you again

Sand. Water. Mud. Tile.
We've seen it all.
From the day we were pulled out of the box, we've been on the move.
From the blistering concrete of summer to the brittle ice of winter, our journey has gone on and on.
Always together, we have walked among the crowd and have run through the springtime meadow.
Each step has worn away at us, combining with the constant pressure from above eat away our strength.
We have kicked and been kicked, have leapt for joy and paced with anxiety.
When our laces frayed, they were replaced.
When our insoles grew uncomfortable, new ones were bought.
And when at last our soles were battered and our surfaces riddled with holes, you sat down.
We were taken off of the feet that we had molded ourselves to fit perfectly.
We met your dark eyes for a moment, memories of the roads we had walked flickering in their depths.
And then, you opened the door to your closet.
You tossed us in, and darkness swallowed us as the door shut.
We had gone miles together, and in the end you hadn't been able to let us go.
And so we will wait for the day that we walk with you again.