Sometimes the weight of the world feels lighter when I’m on the court. The rhythm of the game, the sweat, the adrenaline—it’s the only place where everything makes sense. Off the court? Life’s a mess. I crave the heat of someone’s body pressed against mine, the way their breath hitches when I slide my fingers into their pussy. But lately, it’s all just fantasies. The reality is colder, lonelier. Maybe that’s why I keep coming back to the game—it’s the only thing that still feels real.