Chapter seven

A tennis ball rolled into my room.

“I miss the days when it was just me and you,” it said, “The days when it was just me and you running around; the days when you’d bring me into the grocery store and we’d laugh and you’d just bounce me up and down. I miss yesterday. I miss the days when things were better and you weren’t so concern with making friends with every tennis ball you saw.”
“Yesterday is just a day before today,” I said.

“Wasn’t it special to you at all?”

“I’ve lived through thousands of yesterdays.”

A tennis ball rolled out of my room.