Love means nothing...in tennis, and sometimes in life.
love means nothing
"Racquet back, knees bent, turn your body, move your feet, wait for the ball, keep your eyes on the ball, follow through..." -these instructions are forever engraved in my mind pertaining tennis. At matchplay, I lost; I lost my partner, instructor, and confidant. As the Australian Open is upon us again, since Sunday, I have yet to tune in. Perhaps I'm making a conscious effort to reject routine.
I don't know what love is anymore. I've been gifted two books recently, by different friends.
I have these books nearby when I'm home from work, they are close when I go to bed. I carry them around as if within its pages is my answer, the words to somehow trigger a synapse in my brain and inspire in my heart what I need to get by. I've started reading Leo Buscaglia, and the other, I've skimmed. I'm going through the motion of glossing over the words and turning the pages, with no real understanding or the ability to internalize. I hope to get myself to a point where I can read with comprehension and apply them to myself, be inspired and renewed. What I do know is that, LIFE is about not knowing and having to change; live the moment, make the best of it, move forward...