When the dawn shows its colours,
my phone says I must wake up.
I know, it’s the sacrifice of a few hours of
sleep in the name of the game.
My body is longing for more rest
but this is what I chose: to be a tennis fan.

The live scores hide the details,
and numbers replace movements and serves.
A notification, the written
testimony of victory or defeat,
comes as a timeless answer
to my question: did he win?

When Berankis wins, everything will be okay.
When Berankis loses, a personal feeling
of defeat invades my mind
but I’ll forget about it next Monday.
I check out the draws,
looking for what comes next.

I lay my hopes on individuals I’ve never met.
My castles in the air are strangely shaped by
trophies, moving speeches, warm applause.
But my expectations are someone else’s.
I put my dreams into boxes,
and I’m not sure about bringing them to the light.

On the other side of the world,
they are trying to reach the next stage.
I’m just dreaming on again.  

---

Constanza Baeza Valdenegro was born in 1985. She lives in the Chilean countryside. She enjoys learning languages, flavoured tea, winter sunsets, collecting stationery and reading about the humanities.