Still

The warmth that doesn’t let you rise out of bed
The water in the eyes that doesn’t dry out
The deep silence inside despite the noise outside
The breaths that are deeper and more audible
Time that stretches
The no blink stare at the still ceiling fan that you never noticed before
The attempt at reading that simple paragraph umpteen times with nothing getting in the head
The air that was never so still, never this heavy
The feeling of something amiss but no desire
No anxiety, no longing, no needing a change or a shoulder
The fever without the shivers and the physical pain
When nothing disturbs nor distracts
Because there’s no focus and neither a need for it
When it okay and acceptable if it was the last day
Such are the days of pure gloom, one in a few years and hence extremely precious.