The Premonition

by Banana Yoshimoto

It was over now, but it had to be. In coming to an end, it had given me something, and only by making my way through was I able to begin to live the rest of my life.

A sudden rustling in your chest. A premonition of understanding. You feel you might be on the verge of uncovering something . . . You’re a little fearful, oddly excited, and somehow forlorn . . .

His words slowly settled into my heart, leaving a sweet resonance behind them.

It was the loneliness of having a corner of your heart that was waiting for someone.

I’d never figured out why I got so lonely so easily. Sometimes when I was on my own at night, I’d be seized by an overwhelming sadness I could only call homesickness.

I’d always admired the steadiness of his gaze. Compared to him, I felt like I was just sitting on the sidelines, indecisive, watching things pass me by.

I always knew—when we passed each other in the hallway, or if I was asleep in class and opened my eyes and found her looking at me from the piano, I knew . . . It’s the happiest I’ve ever been.

The moods of our hearts, the tone of the wind, the number of stars blinking in the sky, the measure of our melancholy, the tiredness in our limbs—all of these were in perfect balance, as though by a miracle.

But maybe that was what people called happiness. The more beautiful a night away from home was, the more regretful it made you feel.

“I totally get it,” Tetsuo said, and smiled. He looked me in the eye and nodded. It was a beautiful smile, one that made you open your eyes wide, and all I could do was look.

There, in the midst of a beautiful evening, my heart must have been full of that premonition.

It’s finally over, I thought. My heart felt like it had been washed clean.