The result of the lyrics of “Rumbling Hearts,” the sentiments behind Interlude, the TextEdit on the Southwest, and a touch of annoying repetition.
Today was a day just like yesterday.
I kept pushing my notes towards the left side of my desk as I took them, just like yesterday. There they lay, at the edge of the tabletop, in plain sight—ready to be read and copied. I put them there, just like yesterday, for you. For you to be able to get the notes without paying attention to the blackboard. And just like yesterday, I doodled little things in the margins and next to the headers, silly little things to make the notebook page more lively. I know that you like cute things, so I sketched a kitten here, a puppy there. A panda with its :3.
I dashed from the classroom to the cafeteria, dropped my bag on the table nearest the potted cactus, and beat the lunch line, just like yesterday. I bought the curry-rice I bought yesterday and returned to the table. I sat down and ate my food quickly, just like yesterday, and then ran to get a cup of water, which I gulped down in a hurry, just like yesterday. Just like yesterday, I received some odd looks from those sitting at nearby tables. Just like yesterday, I smiled at you sheepishly.
It wasn’t hard to stay awake during the afternoon classes, just like yesterday. I was sleepy, sure, but I looked to my left, and I saw you, and, just like yesterday, I smiled and gained the energy to stay awake. As the classes dragged on, I continued to push my notes to the left, just like yesterday, hoping to be of some service to you.
After school, I got up and stretched, just like yesterday. I put my books in my bag and slung it over my shoulder, looking over at your desk, that one by the window in the second to last row. Just like yesterday, I signaled for us to leave, and walked out of the classroom. Just like yesterday, no one called out any goodbyes my way as I left school. I didn’t call out any either, content with you by my side. Just like yesterday, I didn’t need to approach anyone else.
I left the campus and walked down the hill slowly, just like yesterday. I passed the lamp post and the cat on the fence. I kept my eyes forward, just like yesterday, not wanting to ruin the magic of our walk. In front of me and below, as if the floor of an immense sea, the city stretched for miles in every direction. As I saw it, the horizon was somewhere in midair; the air below it was the water, and I was splashing amongst the rolling waves of some kind of beach.
At 3:19, I reached the bus stop, just like yesterday. The bus driver, punctual as ever, greeted me with a slight nod as the bus pulled over. I boarded and paid, then made my was to the back of the bus. There was only one open seat, just like yesterday, and I stood by it, gesturing for you to take it. Just like yesterday, you didn’t, and I sat down.
The bus took me into the depths of the ocean of the city and let me out on the other end thirty minutes later, just like yesterday. I cast a glance in the direction of the small ice cream stand by the bus stop, and, just like yesterday, decided not to buy anything. I turned from the city and sized up the next hill, tiny in comparison. Just like yesterday, I began scaling the green-coated rise. The wind picked up, just like yesterday, and I could feel my hair blowing back, the loose parts of my sleeves billowing out, the grass beating my shoes. I made it to the top of the hill, just like yesterday, and walked over to the tree that we sat under together yesterday. I took my seat under it, my back to the thick stump, and looked out over the city. It was four o’clock and the sun was growing lower in the sky to my left. I could see our school’s campus, and realized, once again, just like yesterday, how truly insignificant this grass-covered hill was.
And yet, to me, it held, just like yesterday, the utmost significance.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head on your shoulder. Painlessly, I lost my balance and fell to my side. I lay there, in the grass, under the shadow of the huge tree. I lay there, just like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, utterly alone.