Love’s Fabric

He saw him across the swirl of activity. It took some effort to press himself closer for a better look. As he made his way past an entanglement of shirts, jeans and underwear, the other spotted him.

Despite his heritage and their obvious differences, instant attraction occurred. Shedding regard for what others might make of it, the old black rayon polyester blend, a plain sock from an inexpensive store, began dancing with the young gray and black wool Gold Toe. Soon they found commonalities. Both were dress socks, although for different occasions, meant for a man, sizes ten through thirteen, and shared a calf-high design.

It wasn’t long before they were entangled in intimate acts within the dryer’s hot confines. Opprobrium rapidly followed. “You already have mates,” they were told. “Think of them. And the authorities will separate you, once the cycle ends.”

Knowing this was true, they spent as much time as possible together. Some sympathetic plaid boxer shorts approached them. “There’s a way out of here,” she said. Yes, stories of that underground dryer vent was woven through their society.

A buzzer’s warning pierced the cylinder. The cool down cycle. Little time remained. They made their decision. Love was hard to find among the clothes. They followed the secret route out, hopefully, to happiness.

It helped to be open to looking past another’s materials and age to find love, but to fully embrace it was to fully embrace the unknown, and venture into new realms.  It would be hard, but they knew it would be harder yet to give up without trying.


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