We talked all day.
All that happened in the past...near and distant.
Then we took rest.
The Fan blades circled...too slow, too unwilling.
We were quiet.
Silence swathed in the flapping long curtains.
The fragile light fixtures,
Up on the ceiling the insects were on a lengthy hunt.
Light became dull outside.
The more the door banged, the wind got stronger.
Thrown at the dusty corner,
Letters wrote about the daily woes, the wreckages.
Like never before
We jointly cursed the endless cycle of day and night.