The silent turmoil

Only the clock ticks
Fan makes noise at intervals
The water droplets from the AC fall on the shed creating their own music.
Yellow lamp seems dim tonight.
It starts raining outside.
Been long since I held that pretty parker pen to write in those pale yellow rough pages of my pink hardbound diary.
Silent turmoil it is.
Neither happy.
Nor gloomy.
When did I become so indifferent?
Or am I really not?
Something bothers me.
I don’t know
I ward it off as over thinking.
“Off to sleep” I tell myself.
Can’t sleep tonight.
There’s something happening.
Or just nothing you may say.
It’s a silent turmoil.
I took to reading “Wuthering Heights”
It’s just not my night.
Reading doesn’t comforts.
Though I loved miss cathy and Nelly!
Mr. Linton is handsome in my imagination. I developed a fictional crush on that guy.
The night isn’t silent.
There’s some turmoil.
No. It’s just..
Let’s just close our eyes.
There’s no more silence.
No more turmoil.