Up on the fifth floor.

As the door clicks heavily behind me, a familiar and much loved sensation hits me head on. I'm surrounded once again by crisp white linen, fresh fluffy towels, toiletries, tea and a large TV. 

The last of the day's sun is shining brightly through the thick net curtains casting a ray of golden light across the hoovered carpet. I wheel my bag over to the far corner and push the handle down. It has already travelled 85 miles today and will soon be on the move again. This time tomorrow I will be 1,018 miles away from this hotel room. The bed looks too inviting. I do what I always do and sit on the end of it. I kick off my shoes and fall backwards, head hitting the cloud-like duvet. It feels like an embrace. Eyes closed, I take a deep breath and melt into my surroundings. Room 526. 5th floor. End of the corridor. 

And there I lie, breathing, thinking. I smile as the air conditioner clicks on and jumps to life. 

As I sink further into the bed, I hear a couple somewhere down the hallway laugh and unlock their door. A few seconds later the door shuts and, once again, all I have is the sound of a quiet hotel room to keep me company. Something glinting outside suddenly grabs my attention. Sleepily, I push my body up off the bed and make my way to the window. The imprint of my presence marked out on the crumpled duvet. 

It's the beginning of the end. The sun is giving one final burst of light illuminating everything in burnt orange and crimson. And so I lean against the window sill soaking up every last second of today. 

A memory of seeing the sunset this time last week flashes through my mind and leaves behind an empty feeling in my tummy that I just can't shake. The burning sky begins to fade.

And there I remain at the end of another day. Face bathed in golden light...breathing, watching, hopeful.