Just Like Yesterday

His hands slid over the keys, and his eyes gently closed as a soft winter breeze let itself through the white-framed window in his room. The curtains swayed and floated with freedom that he wished he had. Nothing ever made sense, and yet everyone around him seemed to be content. The wind dried his tears and his heartbeat became the rhythmic patterns of his next song. His voice wavered as he began to mumble words.

Words that tumbled out of his mouth in an almost inaudible whisper, ones that weren’t understood by his family, his friends, and almost everyone around him. The only one who understood was him, and that’s exactly how he needed it. He uttered noises that strung into neat sentences that half-rhymed and matched up to form something to let him go, to let him feel like the curtains.
For a moment, he shut his eyes and he did, he felt free; but as soon as his eyelids slid apart, he was ripped back into the world he knew all too well by now.

His fingers trembled and his whole body felt like it was pulsing. The only things keeping him on Earth were his body, his organs, and his blood. He desperately wanted them to mean something, though. All his life was purely his heart never stopping, his thoughts never slowing, and his body always moving somehow. Whether his chest was rising with his withering breaths or his legs hauling him to places he didn’t want to be, he was moving.

Nothing ever stopped. Nothing ever slowed. Nothing ever made sense.
But he wanted things to fit together so bad.

As frustration filled his head like a slowly filling pool, it burst and spread into his veins, into his arms and through to his fingers. He pushed the pedals of his piano with all of his strength and slammed the piano keys.

He got louder, he didn’t care, he wasn’t free, and he wanted to be. This was how he did it, every night. He muffled his screams and his cries for the sake of his stressing parents who didn’t understand what was wrong with their son, the parents who watched him wither away to almost nothing as the light left his eyes. He wasn’t their boy anymore.

The bags under his eyes had never felt so heavy, and his head couldn’t hold the weight of the thoughts that kept piling one on top of another.

“Why are you here? What’s the point? What’s your purpose?”

He’d never know, would he?

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
He let his head fall and smash against the ivory keys, he didn’t care. He fell asleep like this often, it was normal for him.

He just told himself the same thing that he does every night:

“Tomorrow is another day, you have another chance, start fresh, and pretend yesterday didn’t exist.”

But it did exist, and so did today.

But now today is gone, just like yesterday.


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