These moods come and go as they please.
Habits form but then break.
It’s still the new year,
and I want to be good enough.
(Perhaps crying will solve my every problem.
Not quite, but at least the tears wash away
some of the sadness.)
It’s one of those days where
the world feels too heavy to lift,
and I would rather drop the ball,
then be Atlas for the last time.
Yet in the comfort of my home,
the nook of your embrace,
I feel like everything may be okay after all.
This is a battle, baby,
but we’ll win the war.