The Same Day Again

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I wrote this one morning when I was sitting at my desk, staring at my screen, and I realized I had no memory of the commute that brought me there. The day had already started and I had already switched off. There is this feeling I keep coming back to – like I am living life on automatic, waiting for something to change, but I do not even know what I want to change. I just know something is missing.

the alarm sounds the same as it did yesterday,
the same blue light on the ceiling,
the same lukewarm water in the shower,
the same face in the mirror, already tired;

the road to the office is a route i do not see anymore,
the signals change, the traffic moves,
my hands know where to turn,
my mind is somewhere i cannot name;

i sit at the same desk, open the same tabs,
the day begins the way all days begin,
a low hum of tasks that need to be done,
that will be done, then replaced by more;

somewhere between lunch and the last email,
i catch myself staring at nothing,
not sad exactly, not restless exactly,
just hollow in a way i do not have words for;

by evening the city is loud with people going home,
i go home too, i eat, i watch something, i sleep,
and somewhere in the dark before the alarm sounds again,
i think there has to be more than this;