It's like the missing red sock, the way something can suddenly be 
absent from the "us" that binds you together. It's not that they 
were expensive socks crucial to your relationship - actually just 
attached to a gift of Christmas pajamas by one of those plastic,
stringy-type tags, an accidental smile or absentminded reach for 
your hand. But feeling their softness and the way they hug your 
feet, the way he would hold your head in his hands and whisper a 
string of compliments, they became your favorites. But all too soon 
one goes missing. 
In spite of checking the laundry, checking the washing machine, 
checking the dryer, checking the dog's toys, checking under the 
bed, checking the trash, the sock remains absent. Platitudes abound 
from friends about how it'll return again someday - their distant 
spouses agree. And eventually you at least give the impression that 
you agree as well. The remaining sock joins others of its kind in a 
small pile in the closet. You stop thinking about those warm glances 
full of love and desire, tell yourself you have plenty of other socks. 
Days step into weeks into months with only an occasional pang in 
your heart when your eyes happen to fall on the lonely red sock 
living its solitudinous life. Then as the holidays again approach and 
that hollow feeling on your heart has you especially chilled and
alone, you take out an old waffle weave, long sleeved sweater,
pulling it over your head, trying to pull on comfort from times lost.
The way your body begins to sweat is not the magical warmth you 
coveted. Anxiety created from memories overheats your 
companionless night.
Far from soothed, with a shower of static, you pull off the failed
woolen and it's there. Sticking to your heart is the red sock and the 
hope for a return of the little things that make a pair of us.