Shoulda Coulda Woulda

His left hook was mean. I barely got an eye on it before it was well, in my eye. The bone in my cheek crunched up into my face, it felt like I got hit with a pillowcase full of ball peen hammers. I stumbled back in a haze. I tried to move but my feet took on the physical properties of two sandbags and I just stood there. He came again and I raised my arms. My ribs cracked under another hook and my breath betrayed me. I doubled over heaving, eating punches like it was my job. I righted myself, tried to focus but was lost.
I was not here in this ring, or even this area. My mind was fixated on her with no fear of physical consequence. I wish she could be here to see how far I’ve come, or how I buried myself in this because I knew it’d be what she wanted. I was looking around the crowd as if she was somewhere out there, cheering me on.
I wasn’t even watching my opponent as he rushed. He came in and winded me again. And as my face hit the canvas, my vision blurred and left & I began to wonder what could’ve been.

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