Lost Sock

I am a lost sock seeking my sole mate. Swirling around in the wet tumble weed of denim and old clothes, waiting to be reunited with my other half. I am hopelessly stuck in a rotational conundrum...

What if my other half had fallen into the sides of the damp, dark drum? Trapped in the crevasses of the washing machine, where no-one dares to look? If only I had not lost sight of you in the whirlpool of fabric softeners and fragrances. Or could follow the thread trail that made us together before we were cut in two.

Once hung and dried, I am among well-worn odd socks. Until I find myself placed with a sock similar to myself, but not quite cut from the same cloth. I am a cotton, they a polyester, and yet...

We become an unlikely pairing. My navy blue and their faded black, with specs of an orange tinge. I am not as worn as they are. A few more washes I reckon and their fabric will wither and fray. Maybe I could fix them, give them a part of my blue. Create a hybrid of different materials and shades to make something fresh and almost completely new. I hope it would be worth it.

Who knows... I could be alone once more in the broken basket after a one wash or two. I could pair with another. Another sock, one of which is a different colour. Something bold like red, so that I am not overshadowed by faded black. One sock that isn't stretched and wearing thin...

So I don't have to cut away, making little holes within myself, as they become sewn together.

Just to think a red with blue. Oh, I wonder what adventures would await us in between the washes. The shoes we greet, the floors we'll glide, the feet we keep warm together, hugging cold toes on a wet winter's day.

I, the navy blue cotton, will be the shyness of their carefree, knitted confidence. Together we would be ambiverts, complimenting one another in perfect odd sock unison...

If we are fortunate enough, we could make purple!

Of course, it would be short-lived, because...

I am back in the basket with more holes than I can count toes. I am a just lost sock, doomed to be paired up with mismatched partners. I don't want to be paired with a faded black or a bold red...

Instead, I fancy myself a patterned partner...

To think we could find our own place in the wonky chest of drawers. Among neighbours of other odd sock pairs. Befriend them in the community of lost socks...

Oh... wait, of course. I jumped taller than a stocking.

They do not see a future with my navy blue. I am too normal, too plain, too dull and dark. They want their perfectly patterned partner, and I am not them. I cannot change myself to become what they want. And if I do, I would lose my blue, and they would become unhappy with faded shapes...

I must avoid the basket. Perhaps, find myself a lonely old boot decorated with dust to build a home from them if they come.

Or... maybe... just make peace with my loneliness? Accept that I am to be alone and learn to enjoy my own company?

Maybe...

Yet, as life would have it... as it often does. I found you, in a place where I least suspected, just as I stopped looking...

You were there...

Living the same idea, waiting as I had searched, building a home...

We are two socks spilt between one sole.

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If you are looking for a great love story, I highly recommend Outlander. It's bloody brilliant; ye ken?

Anyway...

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