i've always had this thing where i just cant let go of stuff i've grown attached to, whether it's a stubby pencil nub or a stretched out old t-shirts. every worn spot and tear carries a memory, a piece of my past. this frustrates my mother endlessly.. she often sneaks my old belongings away to donate or discard, regardless of how much i resist or how well i hide them.

fortunately, that chapter is behind me now: i live on my own and have complete freedom to keep my cherished old things. though lately i've realized that some of my raggedy items need more attention than just being kept around. they need my care. take these socks with their progressively growing holes, for instance.

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