I feel paralyzed by time. The sock is everywhere. I see it in flashes of purple from the corner of my eye, in the folds of a stranger’s scarf, in the blur of clothes tossed over a chair. My body freezes for a split second each time, my head turning automatically, hoping - only to be disappointed again. When I see someone wearing similar socks, my chest tightens. My eyes stay glued to them, fixated on the way the fabric hugs their feet, the way it moves with them as they walk. Tears stream down my face before I even realize I’m crying. There’s no stopping it. It’s not just the sock itself - it’s the familiarity of it, the way it fit so perfectly into my life before it was gone.