The hardest thing

Sometimes, walking away is the only way you'll live to fight another day. It's the hardest thing to do, and I'm so tired of fighting. I'll have the perfect mood for tomorrow's weather, cold, grey and no laughter. A bit like realising you're middle aged. It's 5.30 am in India, a new day. I should be comatose given the culmination of the last two weeks sleep deprivation, but I'm too tired. Tired and empty. Two weeks of adrenalin, tumultuous emotions, frustration and laughter all distilled into nothingness at the stroke of midnight. Just like Cinderella's pumpkin. Time to walk back home and clean out the ashes. Except, I don't have a glass slipper to match.