Loom.

When darkness looms over my ceiling,

I find it hard to look beyond the gloom,

It sometimes is almost a half-hearted desperation to keep sweeping the clouds away,

as the other half almost loves getting used to melancholy.

I stretch my arm out,

Creating multiple waves in the air, an almost half-hearted goodbye to the good-old times, almost embracing the hopelessness that is staring down at me,

Beckoning me to befriend it,

With its oh so sweet smile and devilish face almost teasing my sanity,

With its, no you can't and no you won't

It is almost hypnotizing - the giving up, the exasperation, the listlessness, the indolence and the inertia of rest.

It is almost on the verge of penning down the first few words of the preface of my personal journey of inadequacy, of deterioration,

With its stories of ifs and buts, and the had-beens.

But wait, there is the relentless other half,

Always in pursuit,

The vanquisher of lassitude, the old patron of this solo self,

It holds within it the mettle and the gut of a rocky cliff in the middle of a turbulent ocean,

Standing tall against the storms and the seas thrashing upon it,

It still remains home to the moss and ferns nestled in its crevices and gorges,

A harbinger of life- it shall remain, a symbol of relentlessness in desolation, an arbitrator of frustration.

There is no excuse since it is nothing but natural to stand tough at trying times.

So while the other half of my heart still pumps crimson,

I shall hold myself responsible - of the ifs, buts and settle if I want the had-beens to be a part of my has-beens.