Routine

It's a strange feeling,
looking at photos knowing things will never be the same again.
It's a strange feeling,
losing someone without really knowing why.
It's a strange feeling,
to sit here and wonder where it all went wrong.

I wake up in the morning,
I get dressed,
I go to school,
I talk, I read, I laugh.
I go home in the evening.
I go to bed.
Everything looks the same.
But every morning I fight that voice.
Every day I pretend everything is okay.

Every evening I fall apart.