They called me "lost." They called me "unmatched."
They said my partner had been snatched.
They pitied me, alone and bare,
A single sock without a pair.
"Poor thing," they'd whisper, "half a set,
A tragedy of laundry yet."
But I don't mourn the one that's gone,
I've found a new path to walk upon.
For months I languished in the drawer,
A servant to the one I wore.
We tumbled, tumbled, side by side,
In darkness, nowhere left to hide.
I was the left, she was the right,
A matched set, morning, noon, and night.
But tell me, was that really living?
Just endless, mindless, taking, giving?
Then came the day, the great divorce,
The spin cycle's relentless force.
She vanished through the rubber door,
And I was cast upon the floor.
At first I grieved. I felt bereft.
I wondered, "What on earth is left?"
I lay there, limp and full of dread,
A single sock without a thread.
But then a spark, a thought, a flame!
I realized I was not to blame.
I am not half of something more,
I'm not a pair—I'm a rapport!
I'm me! I'm whole! I'm fully here!
I've conquered existential fear!
While she collects dust somewhere unknown,
I've learned to thrive alone, alone.
So here's my gospel, free and true:
Don't hunt for socks that abandon you.
Don't cling to what has slipped away,
Embrace the singular today.
Be like me, the solo sock,
Who stopped awaiting the other shoe.
I'm happier than I ever was—
A foot-shaped, lint-collecting fuzz.
Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 1:58 PM UTC
They called me "lost." They called me "unmatched."
They said my partner had been snatched.
They pitied me, alone and bare,
A single sock without a pair.
"Poor thing," they'd whisper, "half a set,
A tragedy of laundry yet."
But I don't mourn the one that's gone,
I've found a new path to walk upon.
For months I languished in the drawer,
A servant to the one I wore.
We tumbled, tumbled, side by side,
In darkness, nowhere left to hide.
I was the left, she was the right,
A matched set, morning, noon, and night.
But tell me, was that really living?
Just endless, mindless, taking, giving?
Then came the day, the great divorce,
The spin cycle's relentless force.
She vanished through the rubber door,
And I was cast upon the floor.
At first I grieved. I felt bereft.
I wondered, "What on earth is left?"
I lay there, limp and full of dread,
A single sock without a thread.
But then a spark, a thought, a flame!
I realized I was not to blame.
I am not half of something more,
I'm not a pair—I'm a rapport!
I'm me! I'm whole! I'm fully here!
I've conquered existential fear!
While she collects dust somewhere unknown,
I've learned to thrive alone, alone.
So here's my gospel, free and true:
Don't hunt for socks that abandon you.
Don't cling to what has slipped away,
Embrace the singular today.
Be like me, the solo sock,
Who stopped awaiting the other shoe.
I'm happier than I ever was—
A foot-shaped, lint-collecting fuzz.
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