My feet are large (for a girl).
My feet are pale and bony.
My feet are relatively nice looking when I’ve had a pedicure.
My feet are not nice looking at other times.
I’ve trained my feet to land at the ideal spot when running through a year of practice.
I’ve bought my feet cheap shoes, expensive shoes, ugly shoes, pretty shoes, and shoes that they’ve never worn except when trying them on in the store.
My feet run occasionally.
My feet race against other sets of feet, all barreling down a trail or street towards a finish line.
But my feet have never stood in line for water and blankets and the chance to call your loved ones.
My feet have never paced the floor wondering if my friends would come home that day.
My feet have never been shaken from their stance (except during rogue Oklahoma earthquakes).
My feet can’t bring you healing, and they can’t bring you peace. They can’t bring your family and friends back.
But my feet can carry you across a finish line.