There used to be a baseball field here.
Now, only the wind remembers.
The bases are gone—washed away by rain and time. The mound is just a bump in the dirt. Weeds choke the dugouts, and rust eats through the old scoreboard that never once lit up for us.
And yet, I still come here.
Every morning before the sun rises, I run laps on this cracked earth. I pitch into the wind, hoping it'll pitch something back. I chase shadows like they're fly balls. I scream into the silence, pretending it's a crowd.
Because if I stop, even for a day, I'll forget why I started.
They say no one from this school ever made it to Koshien. We don't even have a team anymore. No coach. No budget. No real field.
But I have a ball. I have a glove. And I have people who believed in me when no one else did.
A boy who hated baseball but stood by my side anyway.
A girl who never missed a practice—even when there were no games to play.
A teacher who never smiled, but quietly taught us how to stand.
I didn't win any championships in middle school. We lost more games than we played.
But I remember the sound of my first pitch.
The sting of my first strikeout.
The silence before a swing.
The smile when we finally scored our first run.
That's why I'm writing this.
So I don't forget.
So you don't forget.
Because someday…
When they ask where it all began—
I'll point to the dirt, and say:
"Here. This forgotten field.
This is where we dreamed."