A love letter to tennis
Sweetheart,
I’m just a little tired,
from all that you need.
You tell me when something’s wrong,
something’s wrong, every time
I fix it, as you please.
You’ve started to mean
giving up, and
I’m coming to realize you always mean sacrifice.
You’re losing, losing me.
You become losing time in the mornings, time at night, losing my peace of mind.
I push myself through the early mornings, and then the restless evenings, but then you’re movies
missed and grades slipped and
not enough
time.
Darling, you’re a lot of sacrifice.
I’m starting to be scared—loving you—I walk on court and that’s when I think that the price of us is
too much
because I’m afraid of losing,
losing you,
and staying takes so much
effort,
so much time.
And I imagine you sprawled before me, demanding I kiss victory onto your lips over, and over
again,
It was lovely at first.
I was eager at first.
But then you never told me you’d never be sated,
And that your favor would be ever so fickle.
I give up everything I have to win you over,
as you shame me
for sleeping in last weekend,
and eating that cheesy breakfast this morning,
and telling me I didn’t try as hard as I could have,
but I fight, and fight, and fight on.
Not for you anymore. Not for me either.
Somewhere along the white lines,
it’s for my parents’ honor,
for my teammates who question us
And sometime between here
and there
Loving you becomes...
...not being enough.
Look at your partner, you say. Look at how bright he shines.
Your sister is gentle and good, you murmur. She devotes herself. She is not afraid of me.
You’re with me when we watch your lovers who stake their livelihoods on you,
and it’s fun cheering them on until you’re just watching me,
judging
me.
I gave all my love to you, until there was none of the deep love I had
and when you asked for more, more
I cracked under the weight
and what crawled out was a desperate
hate
and jealousy.
How did those friends who came out to fool around love you?
How come those suitors had more love in their heart to give to you?
Why could I not be one of your beloved paramours,
with the love they received?
What was wrong--
with me?
You’re the three layers of sunscreen cooked onto my skin
the sandwiches I force myself to eat
the crippling, ugly exhaustion that’s started to haunt me.
I don’t believe in us, and I win.
I learn to not believe in us, and I lose.
I win a lot of times, and then I lose—you swoop in to let the loss redefine me, press it into all the
bruises you can see
And the worst times when I’m with you I’m smiling and crying, smiling while crying while shaking
hands—I wasn’t the first to cry.
I lost, but they cried first, and then all I could do was smile and hide my eyes.
But I did—cry—in the end—what does that mean?
It matters—I think—matters enough for my hands—for me—to shake around you for the next few
weeks.
You’re my asthmatic lungs,
the raw scrape in my throat,
the iron taste on my tongue.
And we were always going to be inevitable,
I know now
And yet you’ve warped into the—inevitable—force that will bury me,
under regret, disgust, my parents’ love-filled pennies.
You’re violent, and cruel.
But you watched me when my father fed me our two balls, and you smiled when I fumbled my
racket the first time, and I saw you for the first time when I was five and desperate to play,
And then desperate to prove myself
to you.
I chose you.
I’ve kept on choosing you, over
and over
again
enough to understand--
you mean losing.
I’m just a little tired,
from all that you need.
You tell me when something’s wrong,
something’s wrong, every time
I fix it, as you please.
You’ve started to mean
giving up, and
I’m coming to realize you always mean sacrifice.
You’re losing, losing me.
You become losing time in the mornings, time at night, losing my peace of mind.
I push myself through the early mornings, and then the restless evenings, but then you’re movies
missed and grades slipped and
not enough
time.
Darling, you’re a lot of sacrifice.
I’m starting to be scared—loving you—I walk on court and that’s when I think that the price of us is
too much
because I’m afraid of losing,
losing you,
and staying takes so much
effort,
so much time.
And I imagine you sprawled before me, demanding I kiss victory onto your lips over, and over
again,
It was lovely at first.
I was eager at first.
But then you never told me you’d never be sated,
And that your favor would be ever so fickle.
I give up everything I have to win you over,
as you shame me
for sleeping in last weekend,
and eating that cheesy breakfast this morning,
and telling me I didn’t try as hard as I could have,
but I fight, and fight, and fight on.
Not for you anymore. Not for me either.
Somewhere along the white lines,
it’s for my parents’ honor,
for my teammates who question us
And sometime between here
and there
Loving you becomes...
...not being enough.
Look at your partner, you say. Look at how bright he shines.
Your sister is gentle and good, you murmur. She devotes herself. She is not afraid of me.
You’re with me when we watch your lovers who stake their livelihoods on you,
and it’s fun cheering them on until you’re just watching me,
judging
me.
I gave all my love to you, until there was none of the deep love I had
and when you asked for more, more
I cracked under the weight
and what crawled out was a desperate
hate
and jealousy.
How did those friends who came out to fool around love you?
How come those suitors had more love in their heart to give to you?
Why could I not be one of your beloved paramours,
with the love they received?
What was wrong--
with me?
You’re the three layers of sunscreen cooked onto my skin
the sandwiches I force myself to eat
the crippling, ugly exhaustion that’s started to haunt me.
I don’t believe in us, and I win.
I learn to not believe in us, and I lose.
I win a lot of times, and then I lose—you swoop in to let the loss redefine me, press it into all the
bruises you can see
And the worst times when I’m with you I’m smiling and crying, smiling while crying while shaking
hands—I wasn’t the first to cry.
I lost, but they cried first, and then all I could do was smile and hide my eyes.
But I did—cry—in the end—what does that mean?
It matters—I think—matters enough for my hands—for me—to shake around you for the next few
weeks.
You’re my asthmatic lungs,
the raw scrape in my throat,
the iron taste on my tongue.
And we were always going to be inevitable,
I know now
And yet you’ve warped into the—inevitable—force that will bury me,
under regret, disgust, my parents’ love-filled pennies.
You’re violent, and cruel.
But you watched me when my father fed me our two balls, and you smiled when I fumbled my
racket the first time, and I saw you for the first time when I was five and desperate to play,
And then desperate to prove myself
to you.
I chose you.
I’ve kept on choosing you, over
and over
again
enough to understand--
you mean losing.