Your Boots Have Better Memory Than You

You probably don’t remember what you did last Thursday.
But your boots do.
I’m serious.

They’re sitting there by the door right now, toe scuffed, leather creased, dust from a place you don’t even remember visiting.

That mark on the heel?
That was the day you stood next to a 200-pound diving suit and genuinely thought, “Yeah… I could pull that off”

Or maybe it was the day you got caught in the rain walking home from work, pretending not to care that your raw denim was bleeding indigo into your socks.

They remember it all.

Boots are memory foam for your entire life.
Except instead of getting softer, they get louder.

Every scratch is a story. Every stain is a timestamp.

Whether it’s sawdust from a job site or city grime from the corner of 9th and Whyisitstillwethere,
they hold on to every step like it mattered.

Because it did.

They know you better than you know yourself:

That crease across the vamp? That’s your walk. Unique. Yours.

That welt stain? A drop of espresso from the day you were late but looked sharp anyway.

That welt separation? Let’s not talk about it. You’ve grown since then.

▪️Unlike your phone, they don’t crash.
▪️Unlike your ex, they don’t delete the good parts.
▪️Unlike your brain, they don’t mix up 2019 with 2022.

They just keep collecting. Quietly. Steadily. Like a good bartender or a retired spy.

Whether you wear your boots to haul lumber or to haunt bookstores,
whether you oil them religiously or let the patina write its own gospel,
they’re watching. And remembering.

So next time you glance at them like they’re just shoes, remember:
They’re witnesses. Archivists. Biographers with laces.

And if someday you forget who you are…

Look down.

Your boots remember.