The Days That Don’t Count

There are days
that come and go
without meaning.
Not bad.
Not good.
Just silent.

They don’t ask
for anything.
They don’t offer
anything back.

I wake.
I breathe.
I pretend.

The world
moves outside.
Loud.
Busy.
Real.

And I sit
behind the curtain,
watching
like a ghost
who forgot
what it means
to be seen.

Sometimes
I try to care.
But nothing sticks.
Not joy.
Not sorrow.
Just fog.

I answer
when spoken to.
I smile
when needed.
A role
I play
too well.

But inside,
I’m empty
like a house
with furniture
but no one living in it.

Some days
just don’t count.
Not to time.
Not to me.
Not to anyone.