you were my teenage basketball
not in the sense that I dribbled you
(though, yeah, I guess I did)
but more like
you were always in my hands
in my head
bouncing around
keeping me up at night
making me think I could fly
if I just jumped hard enough.
you were the sound of sneakers on asphalt
and that one streetlight humming at 9pm
when I should’ve gone home but didn’t
because I wanted one more shot
one more word
one more maybe
from you.
you weren’t good for me
not in the way that late-night caffeine isn’t
but god, you lit me up.
every look was a fast break
every text was a buzzer beater
and I swear, when you laughed
I won.
we don’t talk now
and that’s fine
I’ve traded hoops for sleep
and metaphors for silence
but every once in a while
when I walk past a court
I still hear your name
echo off the rim.