It is the only one that comforts me. I am the only one that comforts it. One lonely pump with a shiny body and extra high heel. Living amongst dozens of paired up shoes. One heartbreaking shoe tossed under the bed. From my kitchen I can feel its pain, but my friends say I’ve lost my mind.

Its loneliness is oblivious. It lies alone crying to its lost mate. It looks under the couch and by the sink and looks throughout all the other pairs of pumps with one goal in mind. This is how it lives.

Let one forget its reason for being, and it would fall from the shelf and cry itself to sleep alone every night. Search, search, search the pump says while I throw on a different pair of shoes. It cries.

When it is too lonely, and too exhausted to keep searching, when it is too undefeated by the mass number of pumps ridiculing the lone shoe. When it has given up all hope of being a pair once again. One who survives despite its lost mate. One who looks but does not find. One whose only goal is to find and be found.