Overwhelmed with emotions, she was finding her pen with utmost restlessness.
I guess, those words of her and the paper that was to be inked was more important than her tears.
She started writing, with a complete silence in her room. The clock struck twelve and she was all alone with her words.
In ears was her Sufi music, which I guess she had played to avoid the silence. In eyes were the tears. The lips were murmuring the emotions and mind was pampering himself, cherishing the cheerful moments which were by now the mere memories. In heart was the fear of facing tomorrow. But still there was a little relaxation because of an idea of killing herself, ending everything hence making things completely easy. However the rate of flowing water from her eyes increased with a very flashback of the dreams she was to accomplish which for now, remained washed away by the very tears and the ultimatum she had set herself to. Tears continued with increasing speed as the heart found a simile with the lyrical piece she was listening to.
In the practice of erasing the very silence, she raised the volume to seventy, hundred being the highest, but stood failed, for, the quietness was carved for her.
A war was set in her mind.
On one hand, she was tired. Tired of thinking, planning, lying and living. On the other, her very dreams stood holding her little finger, pulling her down and not letting her go. Not letting her set herself free from the shackles of emptiness.
Slowly listening to the music, with tears still flowing and mind fighting between the two ways, she fell asleep.
And one another night was spent fighting the tiredness.
Irked she was,
Not of people around, but of herself;
Not of destiny, but of her expectations;
Not of hopelessness, but of impatience,
For, she was very tired, holding the weight of the responsibilities.
For, she was tired of living.