missing, drama, pain and agony, gone, lifted, removed, faster than surgery, and what remains is guilt, what remains is an absence, missing it, thinking it should still be there, wondering how serious it was if it's already gone, unsure if actions taken resulted in breathing, or if time's passage would have ended the suffering without any action whatsoever. but to take it back? too many changes, not enough time, no controls. with enough repetitions, to generate precision, hopefully to find accuracy, and a memory returns, long forgotten, years ago, the precursor, the ancestor, one of the first. and maybe, just maybe, i've realized the trap, the cage, the self imposed circle i try and fit the squareness into, that it's all been the same, that it really does take 3 strikes, before heading back to the dugout, to check the notes, to see, to notice, the dips and curves, the changeups, preparing for the next at-bat.