One is the Loneliest Number

It's about socks.

We were created together on a sewing machine.

Two pieces of the exact same puzzle,

from the exact same mold to be paired for eternity.

Or so I thought.

 

We went through so much together, you and I.

Red polka-dots in a sea of white, black, and sometimes zebra print:

We stood out.

We stood together.

 

We were stomped on, dripped on,

dragged through the mud;

and you developed a hole in the toe

from being put through your paces.

 

We were so well-worn and were well-washed also.

But one day, one fateful day,

we went in together like soldiers into battle,

but I came out the sole survivor of the spin cycle.

 

They tried to match me to another pair:

argyle, stripes, flower print;

but nothing fit like you did,

and nothing ever will.

 

 It sucks to be a single sock.

Reviews

[Harmonica winds]

goodness, I simply enjoyed this write.

[Cicera]

Furthermore, it sucks to have the wrong match for a sock. Maybe it is simply about socks, but this little friend of ours can teach us about the importance of actually everything in life. And objects, if like feelings and friendships are not cared for and paid attention, will fade away in time, disappear, get lost and get alienated in high and low drawers, all by themselves left.

It is never late to question-and repair if it takes-that part of our lives we feel wrong, not fitting or simply gone missing.

Now I feel like going through my closet and searching a nice and funky pair of socks! I shall do that today, tomorrow or even the day after tomorrow. It doesn't matter, because life is always beautiful!