Boots

I saw your girlfriend during school.
She walked past me with the biggest smile on her face. As if I was the one that did something wrong, I looked down. That’s when I noticed that we had the same boots on.
I scoffed.
In a moment, my heart was on fire and all I felt was anger and irritation. I think I took them off calmly. On the outside. I hope so.
I spent the rest of that school day barefoot.
Of course, there’s nothing to be angry about, having the same boots. I never imagined I’d be someone who would be angry over that but there I was, sitting in front of my class, planning how much past homework I could dig up to make a big enough fire to burn those boots.
It wasn’t so much the fact that the boots were the same but the symbolism. Or perhaps that’s just me. All I thought about was how it was the same. Gift giving, height, race, movies, even the whole relationship style. Well, except for one thing–you didn’t hide her, but you hid me.
When I came home, I threw the boots into the shadows of the jackets and shoes in the foyer. I dug up as much homework as I could from my room. Fifth grade, sixth grade, eighth grade, ninth grade, eleventh grade, unleashing my inner hoarder. I left it in a big pile on a stool in my room. I don’t remember the rest of that day. That’s all I remember. 
Her. Boots. Salt. Planning. Blank.
All these thoughts and memories came back to me today while I was collecting my shoes. I scoffed at the boots again.
I was so angry back then, it makes me laugh now.
Now, they’re just boots. I bought it with my own money, why should I throw it away? It wasn’t like I was the one who made me feel like a copy-and-paste, he did that himself. Just because he took me as a copy-and-paste doesn’t mean that I’m actually a copy-and-paste. If anything, I’m better. But I’ll keep those details to me.
Image result for brown ankle boots
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