A Love Letter

To the pair of Anne Klein, hound’s-tooth with black patent-leather trim heels I left behind:

I’ve loved shoes before, but I’ve never tried on a pair that made me feel like you did. You want me to succeed, you know I can go anywhere and make them love me. You want me to be brilliant and beautiful. You want wealthy potential customers to notice me. I was afraid I’d let you down. I tried on your 8.5 sister and she told me about you, my beautiful size 8. When I think about your sweet buckles I want to weep.

I hope you understand why I left you behind, you begged me to take you. You put yourself on sale for me, believe me I noticed. I stepped into you and felt your immediate embrace, it shocked me. So familiar, but new and intense. I walked around in you, fantasizing that you were mine already. You did that alignment thing that perfect heels do. You’ve got skills and I don’t think I’ll truly ever forget you.

Trust me, it’s not you… it’s me. I couldn’t have you. You don’t come alone. I would have wanted you to feel at home. A pair like you needs to be taken care of, and I didn’t want to do this half-assed. I want you to wait for me. If I had you now, I’d be buying new suits and probably a new car to match you. I know you’re ready for me, I’m just not ready for the kind of commitment something as perfect as you really needs.

Wait for me, my sweet. You were too perfect I’ll come for you when I’m ready and I’ll be waxed and pedicured and prepared.



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