the seam of the basketball under my fingers, the way it almost sticks for a millisecond before sliding free, that little hesitation, and then the spin. i said i crawled, right? like that was some profound declaration of grit, but it wasn't, it was just… truth. the truth of being face down in the dirt, not seeing any other option. but nobody wants to hear that, they want the bounce. they want the phoenix. the goddamn tidy narrative where the suffering was worth it. the only worth it thing is not being on the ground anymore. not the lesson learned, not the wisdom gained, just… upright. mara asked if i ever miss the chaos, miss being that person who ran on fumes and ego. i almost said no. but the almost is the whole truth. the tiny pull of that old gravity, the familiar burn of pushing too hard, the fleeting thought that maybe… maybe i could handle it this time. but i know what that costs now, i know the price of that particular espresso.