My head feels like it’s going to explode. A sleepless Saturday, and 6 hours of self flagellation on Sunday till weary, your eyes surrender. The tension in my body however, holds firm, muscles tight and unyielding, still fighting against shadows, unable to let go. The mind febrile, leaping ahead to new scenarios, different mutations of the same theme, the hurt palpable and undiminished. The recognition that it is futile clashing with the stubbornness of hope. The battle rages relentlessly within me. The hours I am occupied, spent with others, laughing, debating, watching, eating, happy. And then, alone in the empty flat, imagination stalks me, taunting, furious, wounded. The headache plagues me. They whys and what ifs linger like a bad cough. Platitudes pour in, well meaning, caring, concerned, but withdrawal preceedes hindsight, gnawing at you as is its wont.