You Stood By the Wall

You were waiting for someone to come out of the bathroom at Lincoln Square Cinema, staring at your phone.  You wore a brown sport jacket, jeans, and flipflops.  But the thing I can't get out of my head, the reason I may remember you forever, is your socks.  You wore toeless socks, obviously handknit with much love and wool.  They looked a lot like this:

I wanted to ask you if it was you, the tall, burly man with hipster glasses, who knit such beauties, or if it was the woman in your life, perhaps the person you were waiting on.  I wanted to ask about the yarn, the pattern, and perhaps most importantly the feel of the finished object between your toes.  I wanted to engage you in conversation and count you as a friend forevermore.

But I didn't.  I was too shy.  And my bladder too full from sitting through the latest Captain America sequel.  

So I write this missed connection to you, just in case you read knitting blogs, just in case you remember that bit of wall, just in case your toeless socks, those great stinky cousins of fingerless mitts, are still feeling the love.