Why do you hold on to a fragment of hope, waiting,

knowing deep down inside it’s gone?

Why do you cling to the unsoiled fabric that once was,

knowing deep down inside it’s gone?

Why do you sift through the memories,

thinking where it could be,

but deep down inside

you know

it’s gone.

Why do you hoard and you stash, only to be let down

again

day after day.

Why do you you carry the weight in the basket, dropping bits

scrambling to pick them back up

and harbor them until another day.

You grasp at a possible prospect,

knowing the truth.

why do you insist that one day in the near future a match will be made?

because deep down inside

you know it won’t.

And the only thing left to do is

let it go.

A poem for the mismatch sock basket.
Today I will let it go.