The story of the season was how efficient the Lakers were in transition. Reggie Miller made sure to point it out every single game.
It was also the season when bullets were fired at peaceful protestors,
when everything looked sepia because of the smoke from the fires but also because of the smoke coming from the joints,
and the season when we couldn’t even mourn an icon before she was replaced with the closest thing to the devil.
A masked season, when I decided to stop feeling sadness, yet it also meant that I was never happy.
A season when not even Dance Yrslf Clean could make me dance.
When I played Wish You Where Here and didn’t cry.
Continuous, disassociated. It was the exact opposite of Robert’s Rain Song when he declared: “These are the seasons of emotion, and like the winds, they rise and fall”.
I got yelled at but couldn’t yell back. I got cried on but couldn’t join in.
Someone laughed and I didn’t even grin.
The Lakers made it to the Finals and I sat in the floor, knees crunched, emotionless like Lebron with his Western Conference Champion hat,
Thinking of Kobe, thinking of nothing.