It's a Monsoon cold night and I have the main door and a window open as the clock meets midnight. Having wrapped in blankets and an old Red sweater, I have my pet sleeping next to bed, as calmly as ever. I don't mind spending the rest of these cold hours looking at him sleeping so peacefully. He knows I'll be there. I know he always is. I guess this is what I'd call contentment. I guess I am, now, contented.
I see books in front, but I restrict myself from reading because I cannot allow myself of the involvement if I have something else in mind too. Nights here are getting colder, darkening the thoughts that lately live in mind. Early mornings are always pleasant but perhaps I have got nothing in my pocket yet. Just yet.
Forgive me, I can't write more.