No longer as truthful as should be deserved, some names, places and events deliberately vague to protect identities that aren't mine

Monday, 12 July 2010

The Old Glove

It fits so well. Its moulded to you. It's soft and pliable and bends around every curve in just the right way at the right places. Experience has taught it to be comfortable, like nothing else could be. When the cold sets in and you slip it back on, you wonder why you ever took it off. Why you ever forsook it. Even in the warm, this glove could be cooling and protective...

But the years have worn it down. It has holes. The thread is thin and fragile. As comfortable and familiar as it is, it doesn't function fully anymore, it doesn't keep you dry, or stop your fingers from freezing, it's too delicate to do that anymore. But you don't throw it out, you don't buy new gloves, because you've had this one so long you can't imagine anything else, because you don't want to have to work in a new pair and turn something ordinary and standard into something personal and form fitted all over again. But one day, that glove will break, and you'll be left with nothing but old thread to throw out.

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