Fuck Dustin.

It had been three months since they broke up.

And he still had his old gym shoes on the floorboard of the passenger seat.

Dustin was always trying to get him to workout together. Sometimes he’d go along, awkwardly going through motions that were foreign to him; always slightly embarrassed by the glances sent his way when Dustin talked to his gym friends.

Sometimes he didn’t know why he let it go so long with Dustin when they were clearly a bad match.

Opposites can attract, but not that opposite.

He supposed he was flattered by the attention at first; that a buff, fit, attractive guy like that would find him interesting.

Unlike Dustin, his hobbies were muted: reading, volunteering, going to obscure local indie music shows in town.

At first it had been fun dating someone so different than him; ignoring red flags came naturally. A smile, or the way Dustin ran his hand through his hair, and doubts disintegrated.

But the realization that Dustin was always trying to “fix” him crept back in every time. Dustin never took an interest in any of his hobbies; he had to beg him to come to just one of his favorite artist’s showcases.

But Dustin was constantly ditching their plans for the gym, or for his running group, or Saturday morning cycling. He’d drop snide remarks when he ordered something like pizza, or drank too many beers instead of low-carb vodka sodas.

When he finally confronted Dustin, he was met with derision.

“I’m just trying to help you take care of yourself. Can’t you even appreciate that?”

After a few more rocky fights, Dustin ended it abruptly, telling him not to bother leaving his stuff on the doorstep.

As he sat idling at a stoplight, he felt his face furrow as he stared at those damn shoes again.

Fuck Dustin. He was fine, just the way he was.

The light turned green. Hardly anyone was around.

As he accelerated, he reached down to grab those damn shoes.

Then he threw them out the window.

He didn’t look in the rearview mirror to see one bounce across the sidewalk into a small patch of flowering pusley.

Soles are real. Souls are fictional.