An Open Letter

A gave them to me in 11th grade. It was for Christmas, she said the bears on the socks looked like me. I wore them again today. I can see 3 toes fully, there's almost more foot than sock at the bottoms of them now. They will rip apart if I wear them one more time, I'm afraid to wear them again. How tightly can I hold onto the feeling or reminder of love.

I thought about it, and I wanted to be spiteful and say how nice it must be to have someone you can reach out to for support, implying I don't. But I do, I just don't. Don't reach out. I don't know why it's so hard. There will always be another excuse on why I don't. And then the floodgates eventually open. I don't want to be this way.

I wish the socks never ripped.