The Joy of Hitting a Ball

Back and forth. Back and forth. I want to escape these feelings. Back and forth, back and forth, again and again. It seems as though I can continue to run as long as I point my feet in the right direction, it seems as though I can continue to laugh as long as they play with me, it seems as though I can continue to stay this way, unthinking, for a little while, as long as I can continue to play.

Back and forth again. Back and forth. It pulls me back and forth, from the left corner of the court back to the right, back to the left again. Up to the net, down to baseline, back up to net only to find that the ball has stopped in motion, now on the ground. My emotions tug at me the same way: back and forth, doubt and certainty, happiness and sadness, melancholy, bittersweet, hurt. Can't think like that in this game. Must set up ball, position your opponent, put away the point. Love is different. Can't push anyone where they want them to go. But you have to think about your next move still. How are you going to make that person see you? What would happen if you said this at this moment? Now isn't the time to make this move.

Back and forth. Always back and forth. The rhythm echoes like the rhythm of my heartbeat. Must stay on rhythm in order to hit the ball correctly. My heartbeat is off rhythm whenever he's around. I hold my breath so I don't have to hear it pounding inside my chest.

Looking away is easy until I catch a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye. Then it becomes too hard to look back away.