Bee lining to snatch at straight forward, binary factory cookie cut facts to rid of self doubt.

That part of you that aches grey. Resist pressing fast forward to black or white, skipping over with all manner of silver lining, happy happy aligning to bsh*t or peacocking false sense of securities.

In your mourning, know it. In your evening, when staring at what is now. And disbelief turns to rage and rage turns into grief in your panic for relief.

Come, sit with me my friend. No need to fret. Just. Let. It. See? It’s there, it’s not you. But. It. Is. And. It. Is. All of it.

Be still - Whakarongo. Just. Let. It. Leaves leave down stream. So. Let. It. Be. And when it’s ready. Let. It.