It’s just 60 seconds past 12, midnight. I’m sitting in my bedroom with the lights switched off. I picked up a pen lying beside me, a notebook resting on the chair in front, and a plank behind the bed I’m sitting on. Exactly, in the same order as I’ve written. Even though it is the September of the year, the nights are sultry and sweaty. So, I had the balcony door and the windows open welcoming the not-so-hot-yet-a-bit-cool breeze. With the coupons that the company gifted me, I bought a little cute table lamp except for its white light. In its elegant-white fluorescence, I could watch myself writing this. With the plank resting on my folded legs, and the pen, stuck between my fingers, the empty notebook is just witnessing the thoughts inside my head. I have this weird beautiful habit of reading the words I’ve written aloud. And listening to the words, I’ve written so far feels like home. Wait, before writing all of this when I was stuck thinking, I asked this question to myself — Where is my “Home”? — I got the answer now, at least for now. This is my home. Before this question, I had something else in my mind. I’m sorry, my mind is always high on thoughts. I was thinking about the feeling of love, the definition, and the way people look at it. Love is all about passion. For me. But, it had to change with time. Now, it is about peace. And I was figuring this out in my mind if passion and peace could co-exist. Yet again, while I write this, it seems to be true. With writing, I could feel the passion to write down my thoughts and the peace that the words give me when I see and listen to them. And that’s it. I could get the answers for this night. It’s almost 12:20 AM. Let me get some happy sleep. I wish the same for you. For you, for reading this till here, Thank You & Good Night!
