berrynerdy

 One. I roll it around it in the palm of my hand for a couple moments. The very tips of my fingers are trembling, this quiver gingerly making its advances across my body. As much as I try to exercise restraint, I feel the childlike urges fighting to wriggle their way out. Two. I gently release the ball from my grasp, giving it a couple cautious bounces on the pavement. Merely to test it out, nothing further. My hand fails to meet the ball on its way back up, and I hastily retrieve it. Three. I eye the ball carefully. I am a sensible, mature, young adult, I remind myself. Four. I can't stop it. My fingers are shaking like helpless autumn leave