Graduation...

The day of our high school graduation has warm blue skies with a mix of cool breezes; it's like she's in control of the weather today.

I'm at the front of the school waving goodbye to two people who seem to have their own set of plans for today. I turn around and look at one of three stone columns, the annual flowers below tickle my knees as I crouch down. Taking out my newly acquired smartphone, I point it at the stone with my name at the bottom, then take a picture. There's one specific person I want to send this to.

*Are we going?* asks a voice.

"Yes."
I'm speaking to a form of myself.

I want to go to a certain destination. Walking towards it, I look around to see the school in its entirety. This school is at the foot of a mountain on the east side of Kyoto. This school is known for its STEM program. This is school...was where I met them: Him and her from before, and her.

I look at all the students saying their final goodbyes to each other. I also need to say goodbye one more time before going to my apartment, though it's not to a person.

The plan was to come here with someone next to me, but that wasn't possible anymore.

Behind a couple of buildings is a flower garden. It didn't have many flowers, but there's one specific species that's meant – well, going to mean – a whole lot more than all the others combined. It looks like how it did three years ago, perhaps a little smaller seeing as I got a bit taller.

I walk over to a certain section of the garden and sit down with my back against a green hedge. Butterfly weed shrubs are still budding on either side of me. I know these flowers because...

She enters my mind, again. Even if she isn't here physically, she's always on my mind. I raise my right hand, that has a flower bracelet around the palm, and place it over my heart.

I think, There's that rhythm again.

My legs crisscross and my hands hover over them like I'm playing the piano. I close my eyes and start hitting the keys in a specific sequence while humming a poem. It's not until I reach the end of the poem that something I didn't feel before gracefully hits me.

Perhaps it's a reach, but I think I hear her telling me something. The early spring wind tickles my ear the same way her voice did all year round. I respond to her.

"The day we met? Of course I remember that. Although, I don't know if you'd classify that as 'meeting' each other."
I turn around to face the hedge, thinking about the other side of it.
"That's where I sat, and here was you."

My eyes look to the sides and see the young butterfly weeds waving their branches in the air like a bunch of students with the same question.

I ask them, "Do you want to know who I'm talkin' about?"

The wind says,
"Yes."

"Okay," I reply. "I will."
I call out her name. I reminisce.