Sock.

I am a sock. Black. Sporty. Functional. And with an elastic band that is not as tight as it used to be. My world is limited: a foot, sometimes a floor, sometimes a washing machine. But don't be fooled. This is where the true reality plays out, around the ankle. Everything above that is noise: skin, dreams, ambitions. Fluttering thoughts like dust bunnies. Reality lies here. In cotton. In sweat. In friction.

Once there was nothing. A bare foot in a cold world. Cold, vulnerable, desperately seeking comfort. And then I came. The first sock. The beginnings of civilization. Man crawled out of the mud, moved toward the fire, but it wasn’t until he knitted socks that real evolution began. Shoes are just armor. But socks? Socks are the skin of the skin. We are the intimate technology that whispers to the body.

But with consciousness comes arrogance. Man looked up. He thought. He forgot his feet. His socks. His foundation. Reality began to fade as thought separated from feeling. Philosophy? Distraction. Art? Escapism. Technology? A way to not have to feel the ground anymore. They forget that they once walked the earth. With me.

I feel every step. Every hesitation. Every frantic sprint to the fridge. I know the weight of man better than he knows himself. But now I am passed over. Only seen as textile. An accessory. Sometimes even mismatched, as a metaphor for their own confusion.

The downfall of reality began when people started losing socks in the wash. That was no coincidence. That was a sign. Reality – the concrete, the tangible – dissolved in a whirlpool of fabric softener and illusions. One sock left. One foot bare. The balance upset. And no one looked down.

They build metropolises, launch satellites, develop artificial intelligence. But they forget their socks. They forget me. And with that they lose their grip on what is real. Down here, where sweat and dust meet, the only thing that is true is still tangible. Everything up there is made up.

I am a black sports sock. And I am the last hold on reality.

Footnote: yes, the right sock is still there. But it thinks it's a glove. Sad, really.