Day X
6am.
Rolled out of bed, like every day.
Wolfed down a shitty breakfast of multi-colored cereal because there wasn't enough time to build a proper meal, like every day.
Sprinted out the door, like every day.
Point is, it was day X. Didn't matter if it was day 1, or day 6, the day everything went hectic.
It didn't matter simply because ever since school started it's all been one continuous humdrum. The same people, the same place, the same routine. Life had fallen into a military-like schedule that could drive even the sanest people crazy.
As I laced up my worn-out leather boots, a single tear slipped out from under my dark lashes. Sneaky little thing. The drop rolled down my cheekbone and fell into my brittle hair. That happened often.... The crying,I mean. Not too certain as to why though, but people loved to theorize. My mother insists that I suffer from a chronic depression. I simply think it's because of the constant monotony present in my life, a colorless blur to be repeated every.damn.day. My tears were never the vicious kind, those angry tears that come with an overflow of emotion when you're arguing. Mine were bitter and sorrowful, cold tears ridden with melancholy. I cried not because something bad happened, but because nothing outstanding was ever going to happen. There was nothing in the world that could end the dreadful tedium and lift my low-spirits.
That was enough of my ramblings... I had to get to school. The bus leaves at exactly 7:10. The subway will be in station at 7:33, as it was everyday. And I will get to class ten minutes late, no surprise there.
I got on the bus early that morning, and realized I'd left my headphones at home. So, I began observing the other passengers... an activity to pass the time. Looking around, I noticed how varied the population was. A corpulent man sat in front of me, his one hundred kilograms or so barely contained by the tiny grey seat.
Further down the vehicle, a young lady was on the phone. I could tell by her iron-straightened hair ,manicured nails and the mannered tone with which she spoke, that she came from money. Ha. There must have been such a contrast in between she and I. Her polished appearance over my rough one, her artificially kind tone over my caustic one, and her professional attire over my dowdy one.
As much as I complain, I loved this city... the people may be ridiculously unpleasant at times, but the place itself was amazing. I did travel a lot, I have my mother to thank for that, with her, a year never fell short of a proper holiday.
Out of all the cities I had been to, Bucharest felt like home. It may not have been Sin City, but it was the city of my sins. Every wild night, every break up, every adventure of mine were embedded into the being of this city. From the first place I hid when I played hide and seek as a kid, to the first flower I drew when I discovered my passion for art, to the first play I'd ever gone too... all my memories forged into the infrastructure, floating through my mind as I walked the crowded streets.
The highschool was not far away, but the traffic made the journey almost never ending.
It was X and I had to get to school.
Day 3
I swear the past two days had been identical. Classes, classes and more classes, and nothing ever changed. But day 3 was different. I remember having a strange feeling in my gut as I walked into the school yard. The cerulean sky seemed vaster... as if the world had all of a sudden brightened... the day was young, and full of possibility. My what a strange feeling, what was this? I desperately racked my brain to find fitting words... optimism? No no. Happiness? Getting warmer. Excitement? A little more than that. Euphoria. I walked into the comely building with a grin on my face ... what a beautiful school we had!
