The Mystery of Missing Socks
I don't know where they go, but I'm convince
there's a secret world where all the missing socks live together. They probably hang out with missing pens, lost hair ties, and that one earring I swore I left on the table.
Every time laundry day comes, I end up holding a single sock like it's a riddle. Do I keep it, hoping its partner will return? Or do I let it go, knowing it'll probably never come back?
It feels silly, but also kind of familiar... how often do we hold on to things (or people, or feelings) just because we hope the other half will show up again? Maybe the lesson is that sometimes, it won't. And that's okay. Single socks still keep your feet warm.
there's a secret world where all the missing socks live together. They probably hang out with missing pens, lost hair ties, and that one earring I swore I left on the table.
Every time laundry day comes, I end up holding a single sock like it's a riddle. Do I keep it, hoping its partner will return? Or do I let it go, knowing it'll probably never come back?
It feels silly, but also kind of familiar... how often do we hold on to things (or people, or feelings) just because we hope the other half will show up again? Maybe the lesson is that sometimes, it won't. And that's okay. Single socks still keep your feet warm.
22-25
