My sneakers were resurrected last night. From the depths of my sneaker bin with a pile of others that are slowly fading, they emerged to be reborn with the light and weight of metal pyramid studs.
They are at this time, six years old. Bought in 2005, my first pair of Converses and worn to my first time to Warped Tour. At that tour, I saw Offspring for the first and only time, argued with the singer from Boys Night Out because I'm a crazy fan, witnessed the end of My Chemical Romance ever being an underground band. I wore these shoes for my first photo pit experience. Senses Fail and 30 Seconds to Mars - I died. The amount of venues these shoes have walked over is too long to list.
They stayed with me through almost all of my days working at a coffee place. With mocha powder, milk, soy, coffee and matcha powder covering them regularly.
The bleach stains came from the day I helped out one of my inspirations and mentor at the time bleach jackets in her backyard.
I left mud caked on the soles until it flaked off thinking it had magic powers as it was from outside the venue of which I just saw AFI perform.
They're just sneakers and probably really gross, but when I look at them, I relieve 6 years of my life in one glance.
