The Repeat

You wake up and drag your body out of the comfort of your bed, open the window and for a minute stare blankly at the sky.

When did the sun come up?

When did the sun go down to begin with?

All of yesterday is a blur, you were Wednesday's ghost floating in this world, invisible to everyone, unreal to everyone, non existent, and everything was unreal to you.

You force yourself to feel the floor against the soles of your bare feet - cold and hard - and you force yourself to smell the fresh morning in the air, and to feel the sun on your face, to get in touch with this world.

You walk out of your bedroom and by default turn on the stove to make yourself a cup of coffee, just the way you've been taught by your mother, and you grab a pack of yogurt and force yourself and your blanket cape resting on your shoulders to sit outside on the balcony and connect to the world. But you can't. There is no one here. You are Palé and everyone is gone from this world; you are left to be alone, as you wished. Only the birds sing, and down in the bakery someone is baking bread, but they are not a part of your world.

You have given so much to the crowd and had nothing left to give to yourself, now all you have is only for yourself, because you wished to be alone - and now you are.

So the world goes on, but you stand still. Paralyzed by detachment from your surroundings, you sleepwalk through life.

You eat because you have to, drink because you have to, sleep because you have to - if you don't, you're going to die. You walk because you're supposed to, laugh because frowning makes the world uncomfortable, be silent, agree and nod because no one truly cares about what you have to say anyway.

Then you go home, walk into the bathroom and stand under hot water that's burning the life back into you. You wash yourself clean of all you've touched today, by default walk to the stove and make yourself a cup of coffee, just like your mother taught you. You sit at the table, along with the second mug from your cupboard, but you only truly need one, you keep two just in case there's company, but there never is, and you sit in silence, feel the weight of the day slide off your back, and watch the sun set. It's been a long day, long and unreal.

You slide into the bed, cold and empty, and you stare out into the sky, and your eyes close ever so slow; until morning, like the world, you also cease to exist.

You wake up and drag your body out of the comfort of your bed, open the window and for a minute stare blankly at the sky.

When did the sun come up?

When did the sun go down to begin with?