She had made so many strong leaps in her pink ballet shoes that she came to think of them as magical.
The shoes protected her soles over all kinds of terrain, they had come to feel that they were part of her own body.
These shoes have become a second skin, a part of me as much as the blood in my veins. Where once they were smooth, now there are the crinkles and softness that come with age, with the passage of these feet over so many paths. And in this way, they are the same as my face, as the soft lines that spill from the corners of my eyes, those eyes that have born laughter and tears just the same. They stay close by as I rest, when I sleep under the stars, always ready for the next hill-rise, for new paths and journeys onward.
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