They sit on the shelf. I remember when they were new. Straight from the box. I hadn't even wanted to wear them to training, in fear that they would get ruined. The fine stitching was crisp, clean and screamed quality. Not now though. Now the fine thread that held the shoe together had come undone and simply waved in the soft draft, reminding me of a snake. The bright blue fabric that was once clean and new is now marked with history and good memories. Soft black laces entangled and shredded wore not only mud, but the satisfaction in my heart from every single time we won a game when they were on my feet. But satisfaction for these shoes will soon feel like a distant memory. They have grown too small, too worn. Their time has come and it is now time for a new pair. But don't worry; death doesn't discriminate. No shoe can last forever.