I have a pair of your shoes. I was looking at it the other day and it reminded me of the times, you inherited my shoes. I don't think I ever actually bought you any shoes, but I guess I figured if you liked one of mine, you could have it.
You wore a pair of my shoes, when you first visited Parthoda's family. They were these bamboo looking espadrilles. You came back and told me how Parthoda and his family were such perfectionists. Later when they were planning to visit you guys, you were on the phone with me giving me details on what was being fixed in the house. You really admired Parthoda's perfectionism and his meticulous planning. When he asked your sis to marry him, you were so proud of the way he did it. I have always found this very endearing, the way in which you were very proud of your family.
When I had gone to India for Arun's wedding I had these red sneakers from Aerosole and you loved them, and so they became yours. I took Tari's. So for a while we wore matching red sneakers. We had bold fashion, the two of us.
Today I had gone to the East Village for Brunch, to 7A. You and I have been to 7A before, but that's another story. Anyway this waitress was wearing a pair of shoes, that were mine and then yours. They were these high heel black leather knee high boots. You wore them in Bombay, and told me you had the hottest shoes in Bombay. Even though your feet hurt, you loved those boots.
A few years later when you came to visit, I remember us talking about how old we have gotten. That wearing heels was such hard work and we could just not be bothered anymore. I wish that were true. I wish we were actually old. I wish I was an eighty year old blogging about the death of my best friend. I don't know which is worse, the numbness I sometimes feel, or the overwhelming sadness, or the unbearable panic. Sometimes I think I am over the worst, and then in a day I know I probably have barely scratched the surface of the worst.
You wore a pair of my shoes, when you first visited Parthoda's family. They were these bamboo looking espadrilles. You came back and told me how Parthoda and his family were such perfectionists. Later when they were planning to visit you guys, you were on the phone with me giving me details on what was being fixed in the house. You really admired Parthoda's perfectionism and his meticulous planning. When he asked your sis to marry him, you were so proud of the way he did it. I have always found this very endearing, the way in which you were very proud of your family.
When I had gone to India for Arun's wedding I had these red sneakers from Aerosole and you loved them, and so they became yours. I took Tari's. So for a while we wore matching red sneakers. We had bold fashion, the two of us.
Today I had gone to the East Village for Brunch, to 7A. You and I have been to 7A before, but that's another story. Anyway this waitress was wearing a pair of shoes, that were mine and then yours. They were these high heel black leather knee high boots. You wore them in Bombay, and told me you had the hottest shoes in Bombay. Even though your feet hurt, you loved those boots.
A few years later when you came to visit, I remember us talking about how old we have gotten. That wearing heels was such hard work and we could just not be bothered anymore. I wish that were true. I wish we were actually old. I wish I was an eighty year old blogging about the death of my best friend. I don't know which is worse, the numbness I sometimes feel, or the overwhelming sadness, or the unbearable panic. Sometimes I think I am over the worst, and then in a day I know I probably have barely scratched the surface of the worst.
No comments:
Post a Comment