Sunday, April 4


Outside, swinging a silver bat in circles at my side. Hands still red, blisters covered in band-aids, from yesterday.

The bat dings as the first ball is hit; it swings around and comes back for more. No thoughts, eyes on the ball, bat flying in an arc to connect.

I confessed my love in an animalistic manner and my shoulders, back, hands, ache, but it's ok. All there is is the ball, the metal bat in my hands.

New blisters form and I don't notice. Muscles wimper but it doesn't matter. My mind goes in remission.

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