the alarm goes off at seven again,
same three snoozes before my feet hit the floor,
same face in the mirror while i brush my teeth,
same cold water on my hands to wake me up;
the walk from my bed to my desk takes ten steps,
same seat by the window with the same square of light,
same laptop screen waking up before i do,
same ping of messages before i have even said good morning;
at my desk the same emails wait in the same order,
i answer them the way i answered them yesterday,
i look up and it is already past noon somehow,
the clock moves but nothing in me moves with it;
by evening i want to take a different road home,
just to feel my hands turn the wheel somewhere new,
but i take the same road because it is faster,
and faster is the only thing anyone asks of me anymore;
in bed i lie awake listening to the ceiling fan,
counting how many days have looked exactly like this one,
i want to want something the way i used to want things,
and i do not know which day i stopped;
