Cleaning the apartment for the first time in forever.
Sorting through a pile of clothes I never wear.
There was a sock that is not mine, buried down below.
I bite my lip, holding in the urge to cry.
How can a sock affect me so?
It may seem stupid, but it reminded me of her.
Sitting on the sofa, her feet dangling off the side.
I would lean against the wall and watch, as she lay there so peacefully.
With her furrowed brow and pensive eyes, she stared at the screen.
She smiled, blushing as she saw me there.
We both laughed as I crawled into her arms.
Her legs wrapped around me, and I looked into her eyes.
It may seem strange that a sock has such power over me.
But I suppose it is not the sock, but its owner, that tortures me.