Between the Lines

It started with a ball and a glance, a driveway court where love first learned to dance. Not with roses or letters, but with crossovers and contested jumpers— this was our language. No sweet talk, just sweet spots on the court and the way your eyes said “stay” even when your feet said “go.” We were never just playing. We were building something between the layups, passing more than just the ball— passing trust, passing time, passing glances that lingered like the final seconds on the clock before a buzzer-beater kiss. You loved the game. I loved you. And somewhere along the baseline, those lines blurred, until I couldn’t tell the difference between a fast break and a heartbreak. But love—real love— ain’t always about winning. Sometimes it's about the fight, about staying on the court even when the scoreboard says you shouldn’t. And we stayed. Played through fouls, through silence, through the kind of overtime that only soulmates survive. So no this ain’t just about basketball