“Autopilot”
You ever wake up tired from a dream you don’t remember
and go about your day like someone pressed play?
Not energized, not angry, just… moving.
I’m here.
I answer when spoken to. I show up, mostly on time. I laugh when I’m supposed to and nod when it’s expected. But none of it feels… lived in.
It’s like my body remembered the routine and left my heart sleeping in the backseat. There are days I pass the mirror, and don’t fully recognize the version of me that’s making it work.
Efficient. Capable. Hollow in a way that doesn’t look like sadness—but sure feels like weight. I’m not breaking down, not exactly.
It’s quieter than that. I’m just… paused on the inside, while everything on the outside keeps running.
And when someone asks, “You good?”
I smile and say, “Yeah, just tired.”
Because it’s easier than explaining
how long I’ve been on autopilot
And how much I miss myself
