Step Into My Shoes..

I had a friend over.  We sat there swinging on the swing in my balcony; her smelling a little like the cigarette she must have smoked before coming in to see me. Me smelling like someone who had done nothing but lie on her bed reading all day. It was a hot day. I wouldn't have liked the way I smelled if I was her. The smell of failure.  She knew I had a lot on my plate and yet she couldn't stop talking about her problems. I didn't mind, of course. I was more than happy to get my mind off the troubles that were bursting from the seams of a sorry life that I was unfortunate to call mine.  We talked everyday. But you don't really talk well over the phone or in texts or in memes, for that matter. You have to see their faces, see how their shoulders slumped or their eyes lit to really know. It's quite easy to dodge questions when you're not face to face.  And yet, there I was dancing away from talking about the storm brewing in my life whilst liste...