I stand on the tillering grass with a shaky breath and a bundle of nerves, anxious as I await the next play. I look over the field and, I swear for a split second I can hear the steady beat of my heart. Hovering above the paused moment colors of orange and red bleed across the ultramarine sky. I gaze down and see the fading footsteps from a body who once shared the same passion for the game as I. I see the marks of fouls and the dingers written across the ball. Shells of the players sweet taste of the game lay across the dugout with a sea of girls who share the same love as I. For a split second, I realize these perfect breezy nights will soon be gone. The companions, the bruises, the “hot” bat, those perfect games and the fierce competition will only be a recurring memory. The seams of my yellow heart with soon be a mere memory that my fingertips will never touch again. My Gear will soon lay in a box that will never be looked upon again. In that split second, I realize that my life lies between the foul lines and one day I will hear the words " Play Ball " for the last game. One day the only life I have ever known will be over, and I will be proud my first love was a yellow sphere with red stitches.