Washed, Lost and Worn

I am mearly one of many, but I serve my purpose just like the rest. We are different in lengths and sizes, various colors and textures. Purchased from a lineup of those who look just like me, thats the journey to my beginning. I was one of the lucky ones, designed and indivudually packed. When my person chose me, they chose my personality too. The top to my toes, coated in bright pink poleyester, thin, soft and very colorful. Some call me a rainbow, others call me impractical for softball practice. I was bought on sale, but my time her never felt cheap. I came in a pair, prepared to serve my lifes purpose. To be the lining of life for the girl who walked in the shoes I called home.

I was plucked off the restraints that held me to my base, no longer packaged, precived, overlooked, I was seen. I could see the sparkle in the eye of my chosen partner, as she felt the lining of my fabric, her hands held the potential of my future. My first sight of my new home was fleeting, I was simply handed over to another as my two halves were folded together and tossed in a drawer. I was accompanied by others similar to me with different stories, but my same person. Some were worn, some untouched, some still stiff from packaging. I even saw a few that were missing their other half, simply folded together with a stranger, that shared similar size and scheme. I wanted to believe that would never be me.

The first day out of the drawer was a rush, my persons small dainty hands grabbed me as she ran me over to the other woman who unfolded my sides and placed me on my first adventure. Accompanying me, were an uncomfotable denim pair of something called overalls and the loafy shoes that held and protected me from the roughness of the ground below. I had the most important job to do for my person, I was the personality that set her apart from the rest. I had to hold my place, not slide, or fold, though the day tempted me to do both. My two halves were a part of her and she rewarded me with everything and everywhere she took me.

That day was magical. I saw others with different patterns on different people. I saw the elements, from the cozy indoors, to the wood chips sticking in me on the playground. I loved every minute that I was with her. But the day grew dark, and I began to expose the dirt and smells of my wear. I had to say goodbye to my person for the night as I was shifted into another place I had never fathomed before. I was dropped and piled below heavier fabrics, colorful, but not of my own. Left there, for what seemed like forever. I thought, maybe that was it, the glory of my girl had come and gone, and I was done. Suddenly, movement, the hands never touched me, but I was caught between more consuming fabrics. Placed in another location I had never met before.

Water started filling from the sides, soaking me and those on top. Suds gripping everything around me, tossing and turning, spinning. By the time I came to, my other half was clumped together, not in sight. Once again flung into another spin cycle of my existance. By the end, I was no longer damp, felt a lot better, but was missing a part of me. Another long wait till I was once again, on my own, paired with my other half and back with my own kind. A little less colorful, a little more traumatized, but still waiting my day to be back with my person.

I served many years, many unforgettable softball practices, cozy nights in bed, where I would usually slip off under the sheets till I was once again found. I lived longer than most, I was adaptable to be worn for many years, and was well loved for my texture and color. The spinning continued, it became less scary and more routine at points. My person grew up, her feet became a little bigger, stretch me to fit her size, still well loved. I could feel the wear in my fabric, but I was never not ready to be worn again.

I have been walked so many places, seen a home or two, seen others be not as lucky as me. But in trasition anything can happen. All her favorites packed in a box so tight and placed in a car with no space to breathe. We were going on wherever her next adventure lead. As her favorite, I was worn with her on her journey, sat under the sneakers that touched the pedals. Once I was worn, I was stuffed somewhere alone, with my other half but not folded. Abandoned, sweaty, used. Before I knew it, the door opened, half of me slipped away, I never felt whole again after that.

The part of me that remained, was carted to wherever she landed. A new room, a new box to be in, this one with natural light, but with less adventure. I saw new arrivals come in, by the dozen, one color, all assimilated, short, interchangable, but I ever saw my other half. I destined my furture with my person was over. I had seen others that lost their half be taken to never return. I had accepted my fate. However, there I was half of nothing whole, being worn in the few occasions. My length never matched her new arrivals, my colors no longer showed in her apperance. I was washed up. Every so often, all of us would be brought out together, I was always hoping to find my mispaced half. Each time, others found and folded, a few misfits with missing halves, conjured together out of commodity, but not me.

I was nothing with out my other half. Lost under the bed on occasion, thrown into the mix, to end with the same conclusion. A single sock. Something that once shined bright with personality, the lining of her adventures, now sits unaccompanied, alone and never worn. I think she keeps me around as a reminder of our memories, or in the hope my other half has just been mispaced. Buts its been far to long to keep believing that. I have have seen her change, I have seen different walls, stored away. My life, my purpose doesnt fit her the same way anymore. I am the definition of wash lost and worn.