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First published August 16, 2016
In Lewis Creek, South Carolina, you either play baseball, worship baseball, or—well, there really is no "or."
It's weird, when you get the thing that you wanted the most, the thing you've worked your ass off for, and all it does is send you into a spiral of "what the hell did I get myself into."
Hearts are funny things. They can be bruised and stomped on and torn to shreds, but they recover so easily that it's deceptive.
The thing about small towns is that you're whoever these people what you to be. And you're stuck with that until you get the hell out of dodge.
Stars are amazing. Some nights they shine brightly, showing off their brilliance. Some nights are a little dimmer than others, but you can still see the light. And some nights, they're hidden by the clouds. But even after all those nights of being hidden, after all those nights of being suffocated by the clouds, they show back up to shine.
No matter how much you hate someone, no matter how much you wish to the heavens that you could just be done with them, if they were once the reason that you smiled, it's impossible to remind your heart of the atrocities they've committed.
My heart doesn't want to be held. My heart wants to learn to beat on its own for awhile.
I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to lay me back on that couch and kiss me until I couldn't breathe, until I saw stars, until the sun set and rose again.
"I want to believe in shooting stars and the magic of kisses and—"