The Telephone Pole and the Glove

There once was a telephone pole that stood on the edge of the
sidwealk. It was a lonely pole, one that was in need of a friend. And
every day that telephone pole waited hoping one day for that friend to
come.

Every day the telephone pole waited patiently, hoping for that friend
to come. And just when it became too unbearable–for waiting for a
friend for forever can truly be unerarable, a glove appeared on the
curb next to it.

the telephone pole looked on longingly, curious at how blue and fuzzy
the glove was, and thought it was very cute because it was small
enough for a little girl’s hand. The thought of a tiny friend made her
smile.

And for days, the two remained silent next to each other on that
lonely curb, the telephone pole wanting to say hi but too afraid. And
tho the thelephone pole felt it was being ignored, it knew that the
day would one day come.

And one day that day did come, tho it took many more days of patiently waiting.

The telephone pole, looking on fondidly at the tiny glove, felt an
urge to say it.

“Hi,” she said.

“Why, hello there,” the glove responded, happy the telephone pole
finally said something.

“I’ve been waiting to say hi for a long time” the telephone pole said.

“I know,” the glove said. “I’ve been waiting patiently as well. You
should have spoke up sooner. The wait was unbearable.”

At this the telephone pole felt ashamed, for it knew it could have
said something the whole time.

“Don’t feel bad,” the glove said, realizing the telphone pole looked
glum. “I could have said something the whole time as well.”

The telephone pole looked and felt a warmness spread throughout its
bark, tho that could have been from the termites chewing away at its
wood.

“I think we should be friends,” the telphone pole said.

“I think that would be a good idea,” the glove said.

For days after the glove and the telephone pole talked incessantly,
lost in a conversation that was both lively and lovely, one that could
never end.

And both were happy.

But as the day went on, the glove began to feel sad again, and
eventually lonely. For even tho it had found a friend in the telephone
pole, it knew it needed to be found by its owner.

And as the conversation went on, the telephone pole sensed a sadness
emerge in the glove’s soft voice and grew worried.

“Glove,” the telphone said, “why you seem so sad?”

“I miss my owner,” the glove said, holding back a tear.

“Oh  glove!” the telphone pole exlaimed. “Please don’t be sad! It
hurts to see you cry! We have each other now to keep us company!”

“I know!” the glove despaired, “and yet I miss those small fingers
that I was meant to protect!”

At this the telephone pole knew the conversation would end, and felt
sad. And as the two friends sat in silence for hours, the telephone
pole grew worried.

Finally the silence became too much for the telephone pole. “Oh
glove,” she aid, now full of despair herself. “How I wish that little
girl could find you again, so that you’ll never be missed again!”

Upon hearing this, the glove began to cry.

And just as the tears grew too much for the telephone pole, she looked
up and saw a little girl of no more than 6 walk walking up the
sidewalk holding her father’s hand.

“Oh glove!” the telephone pole shoulted, now full of joy. “Look. Your
owner is headed this way!”

“Where?” the glove shouted, desperately trying to see her, tho she
couldn’t see because she was laying flat on the curb and could only
look up at the telephone pole.

“You can’t see, be here she comes!”

At this the glove felt overwhelmed with joy and felt a little girl pick it up.

And as the telephone pole looked on approviingly, the little girl told
her daddy she found it, and walked away with the glove.

And as the girl and her father walked into the distance, the telephone
pole felt a twinge of sadness because it never had a chance to say
goodbye.

But even the telephone pole felt said, it knew it wouldn’t last
forever. For as she looked on, she saw the glove smile, and show it
waved goodbye.

And upon seeing this the telphone pole felt happy again, for even tho
she had lost her friend, she knew that she at least had had the chance
to say “hi”.

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About Michael Medlen

My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.
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