We've gone everywhere together. You accompanied me when I traveled to Vancouver with my family. Now that I actually think about it, we met and bonded in Vancouver. We hiked through the dense forests, we explored hidden streams, you even went whale-watching with me.
You and I were inseparable for years. You watched me drink and then vomit, you stared while I smoked too much, you saw me lie to my parents and then cry about it. Sometimes you and I would drive to the bookstore after fighting with mom, just to get out of the house.
You're my travel-buddy. I can't think of a single time I went road-tripping without you. We've explored Chicago, Vancouver, Toronto, Florida, Michigan, Ohio, and many more I'm sure. I'm beginning to forget all the times we've shared.
You were with me when I first met DB. You were there when he asked me to be his girlfriend, when we broke up, and when we got back together. We talk about you a lot; we agree that you're unique, silly, and absolutely perfect for me. We also agree that the years we've spent together are beginning to show.
You look tired and beaten, you look old and worn-out. Honestly, you look like you should've retired years ago. And yet I can't give you up. It's like you were made for me, you know me so well, we work perfectly together. However, I know in my heart that I have to say goodbye; you're nearly dead.
And so farewell. I will treasure you forever, shark shoes.
