As I was, cleaning my closet.
I came across an isolated sock tucked away in the corner between the shrivelled creases of my trousers.
I pulled it out and wondered whether it’s mine or not.
Don’t know, but this is the first thing I wonder in these circumstances.
As soon as I reached to the conclusion,I begin my search for the other half.
Here and there.Clothes helter-skelter.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t.
What do I do with it? Do I keep it or throw it away?
I’ll keep it.
As a souvenir of loneliness.
My ironic companion.
He, surrounded by everyone, some loving, other’s not so much. But still he got lost somewhere in the pile.
He is longing for the other half. Because it was a part of him, taken away. Not that he resisted this parting away; he didn’t.
He was compliant. The process was gradual yet unanticipated each time.
I wonder if that sock is damp. Soaking away the pain of this bereavement.
Because he feels less now, physically and metaphorically.
We all know the trajectory, once lost, never makes it way back.
What if I pair him up with a new pal?
But, still, it wouldn’t be him.
A makeshift assortment of the whole, but not true self for sure.
Then what do I do to fill this gulf.
Maybe I would just let him be.
Allow the conditioning to take over, so that it hurts less with each passing second.
But it never stops hurting, just so you know.
He agrees to this.
I put him back in place.
Sometimes all you can do is to not intervene and just let them feel the pain.
It’ll lead on to the path of conditioning.
With that, he’ll acclimatize to the pain.
Like, making an attempt to fill the gaps in the broken pieces with it.
Yet another version of whole
.But this time, his genesis only.
But this time, his genesis only.
Now, it has became a part of him.
So, he no longer feels it.
He just exist in this seemingly endless timezone.
Wishing not to.