Title. Tidal.

Wake up.
Snooze.
Wake up.
Snooze.
Brush your teeth, keep brushing.
Go to work. Make small talk with your boss. Don't make a sound. Stay quiet. Watch him play solitaire. Make a mental list about how your old boss was so much more fun than this guy. Long for conversation. Miss home.
Remember how you don't miss home, how it doesn't feel like home, how nowhere feels like home...yet.
Leave.
See a movie you've already seen. Quote all the lines. Wish it was real. Wish the last time you saw this you weren't so disctracted by that one guy. What was his phone number again? You probably shouldn't call. You won't call.
Shower instead, for the third or fourth time today.
Let the water burn.
Lay your hands heavily against your chest while the water runs down, burning your pink skin.
Let your finger tips wander.
Try to feel your heart, remind yourself that it's still there, beating furiously.
Smear the eyeliner across your face.
Try to extinguish the fire.
Keep burning.
Wrap yourself if the shower curtain and take a nap.
Wake up shivering.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Quit your bad habits.
Stop thinking so much.
Stop quoting old lovers. Stop day dreaming about the lost ones.
Breathe.
This is normal, this is too normal.