just a matter of time.

At first sight,

Those boots appeared bold,

Black leather, white laces,

High confidence, low tolerance.

But who knew enough to judge,

Until one became the owner?

One man showed a burning desire,

Months of silent observation,

Weeks of long contemplation.

No balls, no money, no talk—

He just waited, instinctively acted,

When the time was right.

Multiple hellos and greetings,

Followed by charm and genuinity,

Eventually made the boots his.

Secured and polished,

To a mirror shine,

Never missed a week.

He walked the boots down the lane,

Of memories—heaven, they said.

Was it temporary?

They learned it was.

But nothing cannot be fixed,

Unless it lacks in majority.

Cobblers exist—no point to replace,

Just a matter of time,

The boots became walking red flags.

His feet terribly inflamed,

No cobbler could fix them.

Left on the rack unused,

Counting the days to be thrown.

Just a matter of time.

natasha.