I remember you. Pink. Fluffy. For years you guarded 5 of my most precious digits with all of your might. In return, I showed you my part of the world. Peaking above my ankle high boots you saw so much. Walked with me through so many life events. My first year of university. My first driving lesson.
I don’t know what happened to you that day. I don’t even know what day it happened. It is your sorrowful secret to keep. All I know is, one day I took you off my right foot, never to place you there again.
Was it the washing machine? That has taken so many of your kind. Are you lurking in some crevice within it? Damp. Cold. Singular. Was it Smudge? The little white West Highland Terrier? Small and unthreatening to me, a menace, a kidnapper to you.
I know you must be somewhere. I know you are lying somewhere, maybe filthy, maybe clean, maybe with a couple of holes in. Maybe faded.
Your counterpart was unfortunately lost in the Great Clear Out prior to the Great Move. It is a harsh reality that without you he was completely useless to me. Trust that we both waited for you as long as we could. He in the “odd sock” bag, I, struggling through winters wearing different pairs of your kin. Again, the inconvenient truth is that eventually I simply did not have room for singular socks in my house, nor alas in my heart. The pain was ultimately too great to bear.
However, today, on this, Missing Sock Memorial Day, you are remembered. You, and all of the pink, fluffy, black, trainer, stripey, holey socks I have left behind. Thank you for all you did for my feet. The three of us (my two feet and I) are eternally grateful for your sacrifice.