Your old socks keep resurfacing when I do laundry.
They were old then, barely shaped now.
I don't like them, they make me feel bad.
A constant reminder of stubborn love and ugly pride,
they are holey, and worn, and ugly.
Is that how it always was?
Your old socks don't disappear even though I ignore them.
I ought to throw them away but it seems wasteful.
I don't like them, they take up valuable space.
Suprisingly enough, they don't smell that badly.
I'm sure they are still comfortable, but maybe slippery.
Yest, it must have always been like this.