SHOE FETISH

Dear Diary,
I have a confession, I have a…

FETISH

My shoes are no longer on my feet or rather, my feet are not in the safe hiding of my shoes. I was wearing a black vintage pair of stilettos; never open-toed mind you. I would not wish that on anyone… the sight of my feet is incomprehensible (to me anyway.) My shoes define my outfit and out-feet. I can’t really explain what that means as I h a v e t o o m u c h t I m e to answer such a short question.

All that matters is…





The big toe is fudge shaped, whilst the subsequent is rather match-stick-like. What an odd couple! But in my shoes, even this is petty.

My life revolves around…





The smell of a cobbler; the distinct smell that triggers your sensory eg. When you smell a cigarette and you know it’s not a cigarette. But all the same, it’s an addiction.

Each hour I think…

Green shoes, red shoes, leather, open-toe, brown, tan, camel, sand, caramel, cocoa-brown, crocodile skin, tie-ups, lace-ups, stilettos, trainers, sneakers, plimsoles, snake skin, off-white, lacey, vintage, classic, nubuck, sling backs, winkle pickers, court, cowboy boots, flats, wedges, sandals, knee-length boots, pumps, dolly…


…shoes.


Miss F.O 4/11/06.
I am sitting on my bed and I speed wrote this. Hope it makes some type of sense, if it doesn’t, I don’t mind... I get it! That’s how I feel about life, as long as I kind of understand what’s going on, I’ll be fine. I hate confusion and even worse curiosity.