It's more than that.
It's that piece of tinsel lingering at the back of your heart, hanging onto that rope of your hopes and dreams.
For me, this is soccer.
When I play it I am taken back to a world of my own, free of hate, pain, school, and crushes.
It's my own little igloo chilling me to bones and filling the soil in me to grow out flowers.
It is the connection to my grandfather, the hope of my future.
That poor little ball, being strangled by the mouths of the bullies,
kicking it around.
This ball belongs to someone, but it doesn't know to who.
Goes from goal to goal, one of it's own, one of what it's told.
It's what I breathe, What I speak.
Wind running it's sneaky little fingers through my hair,
and the fresh crisp grass scruffing dirt onto the source of my youth.
Kick Kick Kick.
It's all up to you, me.
Free that ball and let it fly, It'll soar through the sky and fly into warm hands, or a net to finally catch it.
It's not just a sport,
It's way more than that.
Soccer is the source of my scars, yet the healer of the other scars.
It's the consumer of my mind, and heart.
My happy place.