Standing out at short I thought—or maybe
I only think it now—that I wasn’t
really enjoying this, at all. The truth
is I hardly ever enjoyed playing
baseball at that age: I’d go weeks between
making contact, much less reaching safely;
on routine grounders, positioned deep, I
did well to knock the ball down and eat it
rather than risking a throw all the way
over to first. And yet there was nothing,
nothing else I would rather be doing,
even once I knew I wouldn’t be great,
but maybe someday a little better,
maybe someday good. Maybe it could be
good. That’s love, I insisted, going through
all this on the basis of a promise
that might always be just a promise. Or
maybe I only insist on it now.
— from Juniper Volume 8, Issue 1