Each morning, I wake with a jump. For one reason, I move. From one step to the next I don't stop. The steps are timed so all I have is the routine. I know why. Because underneath there's a realization that hollows me.

Once in a while, it will seep in deeper than normal. That's when I can't move. That's when I have to breathe. Push the feeling away. Hide in the ritual. But, too late, it's already drained me a little. Still, like the last times, I will move again.

There's no thoughts, no memories. It is only an emptiness. That I'm only a random compiling of tasks... chores: always on the outside, never real... that I am a wheel desperately spinning for no reason.

Ever since fourteen, I've felt the same way looking in the mirror...

Like a ghost...