The psychiatrist wakes up every morning.
Gets dressed and ready to tackle another day at work.
Puts on his best suit and tie.
Something different, so to not seem repetitive.
Matching shoes, cuff links, the works.
Has his morning breakfast accompanied with a cup of coffee.
Heads out to his occupation while listening to his favorite songs on the radio.
Singing along word for word all the way there.
Greets his receptionist at the front desk and makes his way to his room.
Takes off his coat and hangs it up as he gets ready for the day's appointments.

Fast forward.

When his day is over, his mind is dead.
His face emotionless.
His receptionist gone, he has no one to say goodbye to.
His radio is silent on the way home.
Not one tune played.
Not one word uttered.
He arrives to his empty home and tosses his jacket on the floor.
He sits on his living room couch.
And he cries.
And cries.
And cries.
Until there's nothing left for his eyes to let go of
He strips, and showers
With the disregard for clothing himself, he falls into bed.
And into a slumber.

Repeat.