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of the love

i had the entire court to myself. the only thing seperating me and the forest was one worn out fence. two hoops. for me to shoot however freely i pleased. so i just kept shooting, picking up the ball, and shooting again. for three entire hours, i thought of absolutely nothing; not even exhaust. i watched blankly as it rebounced, simply missed with silence, or slide beautifully into the rusty hoop and bounced again. then i heard the echo. then i picked it up and start again, enjoying this sentimental feeling between my hand and that ball, in the night. it was the bond. and that feeling was undoubtly surreal. of accomplishment and joy.

and the best thing? it really did happen. it was not just a dream.

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