I laced my shoes with trembling hands,
not from pain, but from memory.
The last time I stepped on this court,
love stood beside me,
or so I thought.

It wasn't the spike or fall I feared,
but the echo of a name
heard in every whistle,
each cheer a ghost
of who once watched me shine.

"Stupid," I whispered,
to grieve a shadow
in the game I loved.
But fear is honest,
and healing never asks permission.

Then came the first serve,
not just of the ball,
but of myself,
whole and unshaken,
untethered from the past.

No ache, no flashback,
just sweat, rhythm,
laughter... me.

And when it ended,
I looked for the fear
I thought would follow.
It didn’t.

Because now,
I’m loved where I stand,
not where I used to be.