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Lara, Aldrich, Jie and I were at The Vinci last Monday. We ended up making a metaphor about love and relationships. It was actually to talk in code, but hey, it was beautiful. My friends are beautiful. And all that “I swear we were infinite” stuff. The thought was thought-catalog worthy, but I’m not sure if my writing will be. I guess it would be one of those things where you had to be there to feel the immense beauty and awe of the metaphor. Whatever.

He and you had a relationship like a person and a pair of his sneakers. It wasn’t just like any pair of sneakers; it was the sneakers that he decided he would love forever. It could be the sneakers he fell in love with the moment he first saw it in a store, or maybe the one he needed to come back to a few times, contemplating if he’d take the risk of buying them. Either ways, he knew it in his heart that this was it – the pair of sneakers that no one else could replace. You had a relationship like that.

And damn, that relationship was beautiful. You did everything together. Through hell or high water, you and your sneakers went through everything. And that’s what made it wonderful. It felt like you and your sneakers were invincible, like you could stand through the tests of time and the elements and come out unscathed. It was beautiful, and you declare to everyone that you have the best pair of sneakers ever – a little bit insensitive, considering that they haven’t found their own epic pair of sneakers yet.

The worst, of course, is yet to come. Slowly, your sneakers get worn out. The laces get dirty, they get slightly frayed at the ends, suddenly you find holes that never used to be there. Your sneakers were falling apart, and deep down, that hurt you. You know that sooner or later, those sneakers are going to give up on you and eventually break. You didn’t know if you could handle that.

Your friends tell you to go buy some new sneakers. They just don’t know how long or how far your sneakers can take you. Suddenly it’s hard for you to do anything in them, fearing that one day they’re going to just collapse and break and leave you barefooted with nowhere else to go. You know they’re right; you just – you just don’t know if you can leave your sneakers. They’ve got too much sentimental value.

Now you’re faced with a choice, and it’s the most difficult thing in life you’ve ever had to do. It’s either you throw away the sneakers and buy new ones, in hopes that they will be just as good and reliable as the old ones, or just – I don’t know, hold on to the old ones a little bit more. Maybe they’ve got some life in them left. Maybe there’s another way to fix them. Maybe there’s a way to make them brand new again. Maybe we’re just in denial that our sneakers actually have nothing else but memories of days old in the rain, on the pavement, dirt roads and endless fields of grass. Maybe?