Sometimes things stop working. Sometimes limits are reached. Sometimes hearts are shadowed, dishes pile up and six different weeds dare to emerge in the garden by the door.
So what, I say. So what. Perfection is hell, anyways. Let chaos reign.
Let moods be dark.
Let raindrops feed the weeds. Put on the sinister smile and buy outrageously priced fruit. Eat one sweet pluck of redness at a time. Take off those pinching shoes and walk backwards through the grass. Shout at the hidden sun until a rainbow mists forth. Take in, take off, take charge. Sometimes things stop working. Let them stop. Resist not. Chaos merges to order. Darkness morphs to light. In the weeds, the glorious weeds, the healing balm does grow.