You pass me the ball and I pass it back, fluttering my eyelashes the whole time. But neither of us wants to be the one to shoot. We both dribble around and around, in pointless circles. Sure, it’s fun, but we’re getting nowhere. I’m so sick of playing these games.

You’re throwing pitches of information, tossing out bits and pieces of yourself so that I can decide if I like who you are. Most of the time by now there are at least two strikes, with the third on the horizon making it easy for me to leave. But with you, there are no strikes. You’ve got me swinging away, wanting that next pitch.  We’re playing catch and I’m throwing back information about me. I keep trying to throw you a good pitch, setting you up to ask me to be yours already. But apparently the hints are just outside of your strike zone. Either that, or you’re afraid that if you swing you won’t hit it. What I’m trying to say is that it’s a guaranteed home run.

But this isn’t all your fault. My defenseman is all over me, making it near impossible to dodge her. I try to be honest and it’s slammed back in my face. I try to open up and I’m boxed out. And just when I’m getting fed up, I look that defenseman in the eye and it’s like looking in the mirror. I’m the one protecting and blocking myself. All of my past relationships, broken hearts, shattered expectations rolled into this brick wall that is not easily taken down.

But you reach to take down a brick in my wall as if it were as simple as taking my hand. I come knocking at your door consistently, and you allow it to swing open just a little more every time. It’s all about the give and take. It’s a push and pull of non-aggressive tug-of-war. We’re both trying to gauge how much we should push based on the other one’s pull. Neither of us wants to get to that line first, knowing that we’ll fall if we get there.  Isn’t it funny, that the end goal is always to fall, yet we will throw all our weight into keeping away from that imaginary line that will trip us up. I kind of like pulling on this rope with you.

But something’s got to give. My legs are cramping, my arms fatigued from all this running and dodging and pulling that these games need. It’s a necessary evil that no one really enjoys.  I’m so sick of playing these games.

silhouette photo of portable basketball
Photo by king Siberia on

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