Pairs of socks broken strewn across my bedroom floor struggling to find their partner. So do we need someone exactly like us or just someone that suits with us?
I must have owned at least a hundred pairs of shoes throughout my lifetime. One of my favorites was my Adidas Samba Classics I had when I was in 3rd grade. They looked tight with the tight roll jeans, they looked tight with shorts, and went with pretty much anything. I wore them til 5th grade even though they pinched my feet by that time.
I see the pair of them together and I’m suddenly reminded of my own two children. I hear their phantom laughter and my fingers itch with the memory of their skin. Hair in pigtails and in braids. The smell of baby shampoo and the sound of their laughter. I only wish I could hold them again. The tears come unbidden. I avert my eyes.
Seven pairs of jeans lay unwashed by the front porch, not even close to the drooping clothesline that had barely held so much as a corduroy jacket in months past. In fact, it was hard to say if the owner of said garments was even around much these days. The people in town liked to create theories about where the dweller had gone to, and how he or she must have had excellent taste in casual pants.
pairs stairs suckling plain. Rolodex with placard names, strangers in danger, lollygagging to lunch. Sherman tanks clobbering the crowd with their blasting beaks, curious fjords always a distance away.
I have been in the tomb. The darkness drank me deeply within the chambers. Four men in pairs came suddenly. Rushed in like a river. I couldn’t laugh. The quiet is so dark.
my shoes still fit the same, my eye sight is just as it was, my jeans feel just as warm and tight. but as i think of myself I start to understand differently. I stand taller in my shoes, see clearer through my eyes, and see a new woman in those old jeans. I’m trying to change, trying to live again, I wish you understood, but then again, this is not for you to understand.
Pairs of couples, people that match or that don’t. So many people become involved. Pairs of people matched like pairs of socks, found from the wash that don’t become enthralled for any other reason aside from the fact that so many socks went missing in the wash, leaving multiple pairs involved but two finals single socks that are combined for no other reason aside from the fact that they are the only two left.
pairs were one of the most straking feature in the land skape. Couples also were proninant just as single men and women and groups but pairs were in abundace at that time. Eventurally two in each pair were enogh to hog.
there are many pairs of people in this world that can be called twins, lovers, wife and husband or pet and owner, however this relationship may be… ther will only be one part of you that needs the other part of the pair in you
my school used to have a lot of twins. like, alot. Every time i would see a pair of them i would wish it was me. Wouldnt it be cool to have a twin? A best friend? A practice round? an alternate life?
worst case scenario
things stay the same
simply situatied
starkly sedated
and maybe frustrated
but always elated
the pair of us
like two cards in the draw
never quite as interesting as we seem
when you play the same
I’ve always fallen short of the perfect two. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? The pairs of people walking along the beach hand in hand, through the mall, through life. It’s a good feeling, but it’s a fleeting thing to me. The fear of collapsing into ‘pair-ness’ and disappearing into something that can’t separate into its own being, something not permitted to create through my own eyes within my own vision using only my own hands and thoughts and inspiration. I need my own territory. A pair becomes a mirror image of one another. I hold my need to never be invisible again too tightly to risk a dalliance that could pull me into the trap. Instead I grip the rug and hold my distance, airbag at the ready in case of impact.
Pairs.
looks like Paris.
Imagine a pair of twins in Paris. Or better yet, imagine a couple in Paris.
t’s crazy what the mind can do? isn’t it? The connections of the mind.
Connected. Like Twins. Like a Couple.
Paris + Pairs = Love
I’ve always fallen short of the perfect two. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? The pairs of people walking along the beach hand in hand, through the mall, through life. It’s a good feeling, but it’s a fleeting thing to me. The fear of collapsing into; pair-ness; and disappearing into something that can’t separate into its own being, something not permitted to create through my own eyes within my own vision using only my own hands and thoughts and inspiration. I need my own territory. A pair becomes a mirror image of one another. I hold my need to never be invisible again too tightly to risk a dalliance that could pull me into the trap. Instead I grip the rug and hold my distance, airbag at the ready in case of impact.
We walked in sullen pairs down the alleyway, our mouths gagged, keeping us from uttering a single sound of torment. Even if the gags hadn’t been in place, we would not have bothered with words, we would have just done the same thing as right then. Cry.
Jeans have pairs. Shoes have pairs. Lots of things have pairs. Not me though. … I don’t have a pair and I think it will be a long time before I DO have a pair. :C *cri*
pairs make me think of people or things that are supposed to be together. if you don’t have a pair it’s sort of like you’re nothing. but why do we always need a pair, can we never just stand on our own? we’re so reliant on everything else and not being our own person we always have to depend on something else to complete us and we can never just be complete on
Everyone tells me that people are better in pairs. After all, who would rather have a misfit single sock than two that match? But I disagree. It’s always been better with just myself as company. I’ve taught myself to face the world alone, so why should I feel the need to drag another along?
Perhaps I’m better as half of a pair, perhaps I am one on my own.
two pairs of people were walking down the road, and one pair stopped. They contemplated walking on, and they realised that they were following their own shadows on a sidewalk. ‘How crazy is that’? they thought.
In pairs they ran thorugh the streets. The followed the great pair of red socks until they stopped. They didn’t noticed. They walked right into the man. The man turned, looked at them, and said two words; “Look away…”
Pairs of gloves covered the floor, all used to hide a trace. To erase the past with a cut of fabric over regretful fingertips. The evidence lost forever, the gloves kept the mystery alive.
Pairs of scissors and pairs of paintbrushes, locked together with string and resin, were scattered about the room.
Susun looked around and smiled, faintly, as she looked at the room and the area.
“This,” she said, shaking her head, “Is ridiculous. Do you see what you’ve done, Sharal?”
Sharal looked idly around, though it did not seem as if he could see what he was looking at, and he shrugged. “It’s alright.” he said, “Anything else?”
Two green peas in a pod. Two little shoes, tooth paste and tooth brush. Two blonde girls age 16 walking down Stuy talk giggling. Two jew fro boys with either clarinets or disgruntled notebooks. Two old ladies with perfect silver perms and knobby ankles in white stockings.
A hipster and their iPhone. A man and his pint. Me and my cat. A boy and his skateboard. A young man and his pen. Someone and their thoughts.
people come in pairs of like and disalike. Sometimes, opposites attract, but most often they never meet. Other times, they complete each other, but again the rules of time, space, and entropy apply: they never meet.
pairs of things pairs of people, some will walk in couples, some will walk alone. there were days when peering out from the soft blanket of a pair pod, she could not imagine being a single unit. when the day came, it and the years that followed were cold shocks over and over.
Twins, couples, friends, enemies, lovers. So many different types of relationships, they all teach you something different, it only takes one other person.
Pairs is all it comes too. Only when one is left alone, do they truly see nature’s design. Two are made to love, to cherish, to hold. One is made to be alone.
The moonlit sky is our anchor from above, showering us in warmth in the city of love. How do we manage to live through the day? The distance it lengthens, and the love fades away. As a plane fly away from a towering sign, I resign my love. I bid you goodnight.
The pairs of socks rolled from the bottom of the chest in a royal mess. The princess only had a few minutes to prepare for the feast. Her shoes were tossed over her room recklessly while her jewelry was tangled aimlessly desiring organization.
“Your Majesty, the feast is about to begin? You must — ”
Laei cut off her servant, “I will be there. Hold on.” As she unraveled her socks she tumbled to the floor.
Pairs of socks broken strewn across my bedroom floor struggling to find their partner. So do we need someone exactly like us or just someone that suits with us?
I must have owned at least a hundred pairs of shoes throughout my lifetime. One of my favorites was my Adidas Samba Classics I had when I was in 3rd grade. They looked tight with the tight roll jeans, they looked tight with shorts, and went with pretty much anything. I wore them til 5th grade even though they pinched my feet by that time.
I see the pair of them together and I’m suddenly reminded of my own two children. I hear their phantom laughter and my fingers itch with the memory of their skin. Hair in pigtails and in braids. The smell of baby shampoo and the sound of their laughter. I only wish I could hold them again. The tears come unbidden. I avert my eyes.
Twos. Not large groups. Not lonesomes. But couples. Lovers. Friends. Companions. Hand holders and kissers. Marriages of souls. Togethernesses.
Ancient ruins crumble, rumble as they tumble
Reminiscent of decay, slower than slow dissolution
Ever steady, rocks are ready, drop, drop, drop…
One does fear the blow, the crushing loss
Near and dear: this is what it costs to love
Even were pairs until division severs the bond
Pairs….to what extent is the word pairs…to friends…partners.
Weariness takes its toll. Exacts its price. Demands all.
Eyes are pairs; tears fall. Alice, my dear. All I can hear is splash, splash, splash.
Seven pairs of jeans lay unwashed by the front porch, not even close to the drooping clothesline that had barely held so much as a corduroy jacket in months past. In fact, it was hard to say if the owner of said garments was even around much these days. The people in town liked to create theories about where the dweller had gone to, and how he or she must have had excellent taste in casual pants.
They belong in pairs.
I have no equivalent.
No like-minded twin.
Machine measurements.
Are the letters of my name.
No heart. No feelings. No love.
Love humility special hands music spiritual corky crazy fighting loving caring lips kissing feelings share
pairs stairs suckling plain. Rolodex with placard names, strangers in danger, lollygagging to lunch. Sherman tanks clobbering the crowd with their blasting beaks, curious fjords always a distance away.
I have been in the tomb. The darkness drank me deeply within the chambers. Four men in pairs came suddenly. Rushed in like a river. I couldn’t laugh. The quiet is so dark.
my shoes still fit the same, my eye sight is just as it was, my jeans feel just as warm and tight. but as i think of myself I start to understand differently. I stand taller in my shoes, see clearer through my eyes, and see a new woman in those old jeans. I’m trying to change, trying to live again, I wish you understood, but then again, this is not for you to understand.
Pairs of couples, people that match or that don’t. So many people become involved. Pairs of people matched like pairs of socks, found from the wash that don’t become enthralled for any other reason aside from the fact that so many socks went missing in the wash, leaving multiple pairs involved but two finals single socks that are combined for no other reason aside from the fact that they are the only two left.
pairs were one of the most straking feature in the land skape. Couples also were proninant just as single men and women and groups but pairs were in abundace at that time. Eventurally two in each pair were enogh to hog.
there are many pairs of people in this world that can be called twins, lovers, wife and husband or pet and owner, however this relationship may be… ther will only be one part of you that needs the other part of the pair in you
my school used to have a lot of twins. like, alot. Every time i would see a pair of them i would wish it was me. Wouldnt it be cool to have a twin? A best friend? A practice round? an alternate life?
There was a box under the bed, filled with mementos, baby clothes, two pairs of baby shoes, some pictures of another family, and a map.
worst case scenario
things stay the same
simply situatied
starkly sedated
and maybe frustrated
but always elated
the pair of us
like two cards in the draw
never quite as interesting as we seem
when you play the same
I’ve always fallen short of the perfect two. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? The pairs of people walking along the beach hand in hand, through the mall, through life. It’s a good feeling, but it’s a fleeting thing to me. The fear of collapsing into ‘pair-ness’ and disappearing into something that can’t separate into its own being, something not permitted to create through my own eyes within my own vision using only my own hands and thoughts and inspiration. I need my own territory. A pair becomes a mirror image of one another. I hold my need to never be invisible again too tightly to risk a dalliance that could pull me into the trap. Instead I grip the rug and hold my distance, airbag at the ready in case of impact.
Pairs.
looks like Paris.
Imagine a pair of twins in Paris. Or better yet, imagine a couple in Paris.
t’s crazy what the mind can do? isn’t it? The connections of the mind.
Connected. Like Twins. Like a Couple.
Paris + Pairs = Love
I’ve always fallen short of the perfect two. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? The pairs of people walking along the beach hand in hand, through the mall, through life. It’s a good feeling, but it’s a fleeting thing to me. The fear of collapsing into; pair-ness; and disappearing into something that can’t separate into its own being, something not permitted to create through my own eyes within my own vision using only my own hands and thoughts and inspiration. I need my own territory. A pair becomes a mirror image of one another. I hold my need to never be invisible again too tightly to risk a dalliance that could pull me into the trap. Instead I grip the rug and hold my distance, airbag at the ready in case of impact.
We walked in sullen pairs down the alleyway, our mouths gagged, keeping us from uttering a single sound of torment. Even if the gags hadn’t been in place, we would not have bothered with words, we would have just done the same thing as right then. Cry.
Jeans have pairs. Shoes have pairs. Lots of things have pairs. Not me though. … I don’t have a pair and I think it will be a long time before I DO have a pair. :C *cri*
Every person longs to be, seeing the pairs of people sharing a wonderful feeling. The rest can only wish and hope to find the match, their pair.
pairs make me think of people or things that are supposed to be together. if you don’t have a pair it’s sort of like you’re nothing. but why do we always need a pair, can we never just stand on our own? we’re so reliant on everything else and not being our own person we always have to depend on something else to complete us and we can never just be complete on
Everyone tells me that people are better in pairs. After all, who would rather have a misfit single sock than two that match? But I disagree. It’s always been better with just myself as company. I’ve taught myself to face the world alone, so why should I feel the need to drag another along?
Perhaps I’m better as half of a pair, perhaps I am one on my own.
Why doesn’t that alone intrigue you?
two pairs of people were walking down the road, and one pair stopped. They contemplated walking on, and they realised that they were following their own shadows on a sidewalk. ‘How crazy is that’? they thought.
In pairs they ran thorugh the streets. The followed the great pair of red socks until they stopped. They didn’t noticed. They walked right into the man. The man turned, looked at them, and said two words; “Look away…”
Pairs of gloves covered the floor, all used to hide a trace. To erase the past with a cut of fabric over regretful fingertips. The evidence lost forever, the gloves kept the mystery alive.
twins. socks. wings. breasts. legs. arms. Lots of things come in pairs. But they aren’t always identical. A pair of pears. Yum.
Pairs of scissors and pairs of paintbrushes, locked together with string and resin, were scattered about the room.
Susun looked around and smiled, faintly, as she looked at the room and the area.
“This,” she said, shaking her head, “Is ridiculous. Do you see what you’ve done, Sharal?”
Sharal looked idly around, though it did not seem as if he could see what he was looking at, and he shrugged. “It’s alright.” he said, “Anything else?”
“You haven’t eaten.”
Two green peas in a pod. Two little shoes, tooth paste and tooth brush. Two blonde girls age 16 walking down Stuy talk giggling. Two jew fro boys with either clarinets or disgruntled notebooks. Two old ladies with perfect silver perms and knobby ankles in white stockings.
A hipster and their iPhone. A man and his pint. Me and my cat. A boy and his skateboard. A young man and his pen. Someone and their thoughts.
people come in pairs of like and disalike. Sometimes, opposites attract, but most often they never meet. Other times, they complete each other, but again the rules of time, space, and entropy apply: they never meet.
I’m eating right now so this isn’t as easy. but there are these two girls at the counter that choose to yell at each other.
pairs of things pairs of people, some will walk in couples, some will walk alone. there were days when peering out from the soft blanket of a pair pod, she could not imagine being a single unit. when the day came, it and the years that followed were cold shocks over and over.
Twins, couples, friends, enemies, lovers. So many different types of relationships, they all teach you something different, it only takes one other person.
Pairs is all it comes too. Only when one is left alone, do they truly see nature’s design. Two are made to love, to cherish, to hold. One is made to be alone.
The moonlit sky is our anchor from above, showering us in warmth in the city of love. How do we manage to live through the day? The distance it lengthens, and the love fades away. As a plane fly away from a towering sign, I resign my love. I bid you goodnight.
The pairs of socks rolled from the bottom of the chest in a royal mess. The princess only had a few minutes to prepare for the feast. Her shoes were tossed over her room recklessly while her jewelry was tangled aimlessly desiring organization.
“Your Majesty, the feast is about to begin? You must — ”
Laei cut off her servant, “I will be there. Hold on.” As she unraveled her socks she tumbled to the floor.