Turnings that make Circles.

There is no jealousy, yet I find traces of it in you. I never curve my fingers into yours, but you always do it and I can't help giving up. Don't do this, I might fall for you.

It's 5.40 am. They just left. 5.41 am silence has begun carpeting the crevices and the corridors. Only forms of silence walk through the doors. They shut the door before the left; no one is going to into that room, except for the servants who clean the house. I can hear my whisper being a roaring thunder. The tick tock of the alarm clock is making me go insane, it's too loud. Has silence really walked in? Or has insanity reached another level.