this is a disorganized little tribute to something that already slipped away.
the team was weird — chaotic, thrown together, mismatched.
but somehow, beautiful in its own way.
we played hard. we laughed.
and then we had our first lunch together.
which also became our last.
that was it.
no promises. no next time.
just a fleeting constellation of strangers
who happened to wear the same jersey for two weekends.
now it’s over,
and i’m still holding onto the echo.
after three messy, chaotic games,
we sat around the table, tired and laughing.
moments were recalled like they were war stories,
told with grins, limbs sore, hearts soft.
and then, suddenly—
i was alone in the back of a cab,
tears sliding down quietly.
crying, not because i lost,
but because it was over.
i barely knew the rules.
i skated like a duckling, wobbling, chasing the puck with no plan.
i dissociated through most of it.
i didn’t even have a favorite teammate.
and still—something cracked open in me.
it wasn’t about the wins.
it wasn’t about skill.
it was about being part of something,
however brief, however disjointed, however unspeakable.
this is what impermanence feels like:
a laugh shared over hotpot,
a bruise on my shin,
a face I won’t see again.
gone, just like that.
and yet…
for a fleeting second,
i was alive inside a story I didn’t know i was writing.
- Who I was: A messy, hopeful, adrenaline-fueled version of myself — skating, laughing, thirsting, living too hard and too fast for anything to last.
- What I felt: A silent crash of anticlimax — sparks with nowhere to go, rejection wrapped in beauty, and the hollow ache of almost.
- What ended: The team. The rhythm. The shared meals and inside jokes. The games that made me feel like I belonged, if only briefly.
- What I’m carrying forward: The courage to ask. The pride in my boldness. The fact that I showed up — on ice, in life, in longing — even when nothing promised to last.
19til29 