Missing Parts

I can't find my boots.

It's 3:30 am and I can't sleep because I can't find my boots. My brown boots from Charlotte Russe that I got on sale. I can't find the black ones either but it's the brown ones I need. It's cold out and I'll need my boots to wear with the green sweater dress because I don't have any brown flats. Not that I really wear flats anyways. I need those boots.

It's so silly that I can't sleep because of boots. It's not like I need them right now. I just can't find them and it's bothering me. I ripped through my room looking for them.

Then I thought... Have I worn boots since I came back home? Did I leave them at the apartment? What else could I have left there??

I haven't had time to get in the right train of mind to deal with these things running through my head (running, mind you, without their boots on). There are too many things to do and there's too much white noise in my ears.

I'm just not sure why it is so disturbing to me that I may have left my boots. Perhaps because I may have also left a large portion of myself. That... that is what I am truly afraid of. Boots... however loved, can be replaced. There's a coffee colored pair in my mother's trunk waiting for Christmas. My heart... My heart is another matter all together. I can't buy a replacement on sale at the mall. There's no catalog to order from or site to store delivery. None of my friends can check my online registry and check the gift wrap box. Things like that you only get once, at the very beginning with your soul and your pink or blue hospital wristband.

They say "Time heals all wounds". I think they give time too much credit sometimes.
Christ can heal all wounds, I'll believe that.

While you're at it... Can you find my boots?