you don’t know what it’s like,
watching a person you love, love something else.
partaking in what they want,
pretending to love it too,
hiding how you really feel.
it seems justified when you see how happy it makes them.
their eyes light up with joy,
they can’t help but smile,
they wear the look you do when you think of them,
but then it fades.
not their happiness, but yours.
you feel trapped,
changed into what they want.
slowly forgetting what it was that used to make you happy,
slowly forgetting what the happiness even felt like,
so you close yourself off.
following along faithfully.
all they wanted was to share the thing they love with the person they love,
but you can’t hold on forever.
so they fall out of love with you,
seek a new person to share with,
leaving you alone,
lost.
chasing after the object of their affection in hopes to win them back.
forever distancing yourself from the person you used to be,
forever trapping yourself in the world you so desperately want to escape,
forever following hopelessly in their footsteps.

the emotion.
baseball can’t be described in words,
just like an emotion can’t be explained.

baseball is built on the principal of saying something without speaking and that actions speak louder than words.
just like double plays speak louder than walks.

baseball is eating cookies in the fourth inning to get more energy.
it’s sleeping with a mitt under your pillow and not washing your socks.

baseball is having a dented car,
it’s always parking as far away from the nearest field as possible once you’ve learned your lesson.

baseball is living off of hot dogs and coke,
it’s making fun of the little league moms who bring their own sandwiches for lunch.

baseball is a swirling, violent storm,
it’s the crack of the bat that echoes like a clap of thunder followed by a runner as fast as a lightning bolt.

baseball is the smell of dirt and sweat,
it’s the distant nostalgic aroma of sunflower seeds and Gatorade.

baseball is the stinging splinters and the scarring blisters,
it’s the feeling of scrapes and bruises on your hips from sliding.

so no, baseball can not be described in words.
it can only be described in what it does to a person,
how it influences their life.

baseball is so much more than a game,
so it’s only fitting that it never gets overlooked by describing it in words few will understand.

it can only be described in the moments that are burning secrets to those who possess them.
it can only be described as a perfect little moment in a lifetime of uncertainty,
one constant that can be counted on through the pain and happiness, the ups and downs of life.

somehow you always expect the universe to wait for you.
that the trees will stop growing and the sky will stop raining.
maybe the rivers will stop flowing or the snow will stop falling.
you wither away,
just waiting for the moment that the sky will bend to hold your hands and pull you to stand a little straighter.

you let yourself fall apart while the world moves on in hopes that it will stop.
the earth will stop spinning,
the seasons will stop changing,
people will stop leaving you behind,
wind will stop blowing away the ashes of your broken memories.
you hope against hope that the trees will weave themselves together to make you a safety blanket.
maybe the mountains will rise around you and protect you from the barrage of the outside world,
but it never does.

time goes on,
people grow older,
they grow more independent.
nothing in the universe will wait for you as you grow tired in an endless battle over your own subconscious,
an endless battle to win back the privilege to control your own life.

you find yourself lost time and time again,
wandering down an abandoned road,
caught in a sea of loneliness,
waves crashing against you as you fight to breathe and fix your life.
you suffocate with lack of authority over your own being.
your reliance on the support will be your undoing.

but still,
you blame it on those who are too busy fixing their own life to deal with your madness,
those who are already caught in their own war and let themselves suffocate to let you breathe,
leaving you behind.
a sole survivor who is waiting in line to suffocate for another,
an endless cycle of selfishness and selflessness.

blue,
the color of the ocean,
the color of the sky,
the color of intelligence,
the color of calm,
the color of a cold, depressed winter.

green,
the color of trees,
the color of nature,
the color of mischief,
the color of safety.
the color of a bright, adventurous summer.

my eyes,
a swirling combination of blue and green,
a representation of intelligence and mischief,
a source of calm and adventure,
a union of complementary opposites,
a storm of different sides of one person.

We fear Silence.
We fear the absence of sound like we fear the emptiness it fills us with.
When one fears the silence consuming them, they must only remember to listen.
Listen to the sounds that are always there, but never noticed,
Listen to the sounds that are often overlooked,
The sounds that prove to us that we are never as alone as we feel.
The sound of a plane soaring overhead.
Trains rolling along their tracks with yellow headlights piercing through a black night.
Rain falling steadily on a window pane.
Silence seems dauntingly inescapable.
It seems as if a moment too long trapped in a world of silence would be enough to forever descend in a world of loneliness.
What we don’t realize is that true silence doesn’t really exist.
We fail to understand that true loneliness is simply fictitious,
For there will always be something there remaining to obliterate the perception of silence.