I picked you up

glistening, fresh out of the box.

The smell of fresh leather

"gazelle" gilded in gold across your stripes.

Fitting like a glove I loved you

the instant my eyes met yours.

We fit together iconically, 

bread to butter,

I melted into you.

Everything was perfect;

you went with everything 

completed me.

 

Your first scuff was rough,

the black contrasted against the fresh white.

That's okay, shoes were meant to get dirty.

Every scuff reflected a story;

I found it unique,

until the stark white began to fade.

 

Beaten up,

worn beyond repair,

I stopped wearing you. 

Intentions of redemption lost,

a fresh new pair take your place. 

Little did you know I was your old gazelles.