Once I met a lamp that swore it could see into the past; much like talking to my cat about my lost youth...
“Why wear socks? The world is an endless beach, suckling sands between our toes that cry for seagulls,” she purred.
We wondered if our socks had any memories left. All that time mated to dwindling pairs, residing under the couch like tragic poets.
“If only the light could remember its own flicker...” I mused. The lamp glowed dimly; it definitely understood what I meant.
