Today.

I said, "I hate everyone and everything, today. I hate everyone and everything except for you."
You said, nothing.
I spoke in empty stalls in locked restrooms and screamed against the walls, while you sat on the opposite side of the building leafing through the pages of a textbook. I said, "I hate everything and everyone, and I wish I could hate even you, today."
You said, nothing.
I eyed your reflection in the tinted window, as you sat behind me, avoiding my figure. Your eyes mirrored flames of red that you called crimson and green that you named slytherin. I cried and wiped my eyes, and you never saw me because today is really no different than any other.
I said, "I hate everything and everyone, and I wish I could hate you, but I can't. I love you, and today, I wish I loved someone else a little more, instead."
You said something, but it was mumbled under your breath and drowned out in the shuffling of your sneakers as you walked away.