I’m running out of steam, she thought at the end of another long day at the office.

Amy shook her head, knowing she was lying to herself. Again.

No, you ran out of steam months ago, that nagging and too honest voice reminded her. Remember when you woke up without being exhausted? When you actually looked forward to the day ahead? When you still had something resembling happiness?

She sighed heavily, unable to deny her silent accuser. Now, the only thing I look forward to is falling asleep, when I don’t feel this weight anymore. I still wonder how I’m able to work all day on empty batteries.

Still, something doesn’t add up; was it only months? It feels like years and-

“Amy”, someone interrupted, “are you OK”?