[mousepoet]: 243.If I were a sock

If I was sock, I would never be matched. In dreams I would have an exact replica, a double to share secrets with, and a clone to switch places with, but unfortunately, that dream would stay a dream. I would be subjected to constant folding with another, so different from myself. My life would be a simple one: wash, fold, wear, repeat. Nothing would make me happier than getting thrust into a smelly shoe, surrounded by dirty cloth and rubber, a cozy suit of armor to protect me from the elements. Nothing would make me happier than, at long last, being peeled away from a foot at the end of the day, tacky from sweat and grey with soil. To be worth something as a sock, even a very little something, would be my goal. To be the pair of socks that, no matter how often you wear them and how dirty they get, the newness, the fuzz, would never wear off. I alone would never be lost and I would never, ever rip at the point of your toes. If I was a sock, you would reach to me, day after day, and feel just a twinge of regret when discovering that I was in the wash.