Who put it there?


A single shoe, lying in a store, unattached to a foot, unattached to a pile of shoes.

And yet, beauty.

It lies alone, removed from pressure, debunking shoe stereotypes, living the life it wanted.

And yet, tired.

Longing for love, but so comfortable alone, looking for a foot to hug, the partner to match.

And yet, style.

The shoe that stands alone dies alone. But will I pull the trigger?

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