It's hard for me to see shoes released into the world, all the while knowing that their rightful place on my sneak rack will never be recognized. It seems like week after week, crep after crep creeps into my dreams like the Slenderman looming over his next pillow coddled victim. Only for my soul to be shaken into some half-slumber where situationally unattainable sneakers dance around my bed until I throw my triple white duvet high over my head. I used to toss and turn, consumed by cold sweats the night before a release, always ambitious and attentive even as the sun spoke gentle words of discouragement. L's are an understanding, but for a true aficionado, they are never an acceptance. For years now I have been building an arsenal in my mind. A sneaker closet of the imagination, if you will. This is a place that has only been spoken about as myth, yet my visits to this sanctuary continue to make it all the more real. Many of my Grails aren't physical, but to hold onto their memory allows me to grow this cloud-laden warehouse. If only you could visit with me. Might never be, but we'll see.