Every four years,
since I’ve had a memory,
my heart gets filled
with pride and hope.
I stand in front of a TV
and allow myself to believe.
This time we’ll get further,
this time we’ll raise the cup.
Every four years,
I also get hit with reality.
Eliminated again,
cursed to stay in the same spot.
They make progress,
but they remain stuck.
Yet I hold my hope.
Every four years,
I remember that football,
not soccer, football,
is ingrained in me.
I keep time with it,
I track who I am.
Every four years,
I find myself
in the same spot again.
I’m not who I want to be.
Not yet at least.
I make progress,
but I stay stuck.
Every four years,
I hold on hope despite it all.
despite their mistakes,
fake penalties,
sad goodbyes.
I know it’s all a slow process.
The win is getting closer.
Every four years,
since I’ve had a memory,
my heart gets filled
with pride and hope.
I stand in front of my past
and allow myself to believe.
I am getting further.
I am making my hopes true.