The routine has become so mundane.
The process so common it’s now effortless… meaningless.
If it no longer has meaning – does he?
He allows himself to fall apart nightly, just to feel again.
// First, his fingers break off with such a familiar sound.
It reminds him of fresh popcorn cooking on the stovetop at grandma’s.
The fingers pop one by one like kernels as they break off of his hand.
Next, his arm firmly pops out of the socket with the familiar hollow popping thunk.
His knee unhinges with a squeak and then pries itself from his upper leg.
Finally, his ear un-velcros itself from the side of his head. //
Sudden movement pulls him out of his daydream.
Is that me in the mirror?
He watches himself brush the style from dark shaggy locks.
Is that my hair?
He watches himself remove his contact lenses from piercing dark eyes.
Are those my eyes?
He watches himself in the mirror as hands unbutton his shirt.
Are those my hands?
He removes everything, shyly revealing his vulnerable nakedness to himself.
There is nothing left.
He is nothing more.