socks and love

I think that someone has probably said this before....many times... but, I think that socks, hand knit socks in particular, are a massive act of love. For one, the act of knitting something for someone in particular must be an act of love--or at least deep caring. To undertake such an intense ....wait, let me back up a bit:
I feel that when I knit something, or even sew something for that matter, that whatever I am feeling, watching, listening to, etc. at the time gets worked into my project--whenever I pick it up again at a different moment (say, all those discarded, orphaned projects) I can recall what I was feeling at that time, or what I was doing, or watching. I often rate my projects by how many movies I watched or how many tapes of North and South we got through. So, that automatically leads me to believe that whatever I work into a project, feeling-wise, somehow will be transferred to the recipient.
Back to the socks: The socks, of course, are a magical experience for many--the person learning to knit them for the first time, the person watching the knitter make them, and also, sometimes, the person knitting their umpteenth pair of socks--yes, just magical. And the fact that you have to produce this magic twice--the same (well, unless you are making them for the lawn mower victim--sorry Tee), yes, twice, exactly the same.
How many of you have knit one sock, and quit?
Me, I've only done it once--and I still have the opportunity to finish--although that sock is well on its way to becoming a Christmas Stocking.
Anyway, when you start to knit a pair for someone, there's that first decision that you make--which often makes you think that they are worthy of a sock, or two. But, what happens when halfway through the sock, you question their worthiness? And wavering back and forth on this idea you finish the sock--and the rest of the yarn is sitting there staring you in the face, asking you why you don't just start again--do it all over? So, you have one sock, knit with worth and earnest. I could have just yanked it out and started over, you say? But it was meant for someone... Is this like...michelangelo, asking the stone what it wants to be? And when he can't bring it to life, he quits? no, no, no, I say.
I kept knitting. But, all the while, I worried whether I would knit my angst and unhallowedness into this sock--would the sock hold my anger? Would the other sock, knit in happiness cancel this out for the recipient? Do socks hold emotions? Considering, that when I touch projects, or pieces of projects, I can clearly recall such said emotions? I think yes.
So, I keep knitting--it's just repetition now, I did this sock before, so, stall worth me, I finished it--even kitchner stitched this one much better that the first, so much better than the first, I took out the first and re-kitchner-ed it.
Two beautiful socks--for one beautiful soul.
That, that kind of perseverance, that must be love. For something that will get walked all over--and walked through--maybe brought back to be darned--and slowly, the wearer will appreciate what went into the socks. Whether the karma knitted in will affect them or not? I don't know, but, the look of appreciation on the face of the soon-to-be-hand-knit-sock-convert was all it took.
Yes, that must be love--whether or not it is returned, the completed second sock, is love.
Yes, socks must be the epitome of unrequited love.