The moon out the window shines bright as you sleep broken in pieces, the bat in the corner sheds tears for you broken at places, and the dreams breathe quiet, not broken yet. (caption) *unheard, unknown battles* • The warm comfortable bed in the chilly winter does lure you but the sleep must be sacrificed for the 4 am training, so you leave for the ground with a handful of soaked chickpeas and hopeful eyes habituated to the cold. • Every boy and man aims for the top, and it is unsettling in a way, because you have no idea what the hell is happening and where the hell you will go, so you ignore (escape) such thoughts as you hammer the face of the bat with no expression on your face, almost dead. • The session is done somehow, it was not extraordinary, just routine, except for the fact that one ball hit your ribs and the damn things hurts like hell. So you take home ice along with fruits.
