I slipped into 2021 frail.
For lack of a better phrase: grey, or something close.

Like they say, we don’t look like our struggles -for reasons only God knows best.

Imagine waking up hopeful, only to be met with the most unexpected disappointment at the start of the year.
In love one moment, the next uncertain and lost.

If life gave me flowers each time I dedicated my heart to honour, love, and respect the people, places, and things placed in my direction, I would have a farmyard housing them every season.

A series between the shadows of doubt – rights and wrongs, maybes and should-haves that cannot be undone.
Grey is that situation everyone knows, yet never fully understands. She is as unflinching as she comes, yet you experience her as though she asked your permission to be here.

This is grey.

I know I’m healing or so my mind makes me believe – in places I once thought otherwise.
I will definitely heal from this one too.

Time kept ticking.
Work kept piling.
Weddings didn’t cease.
And nothing changed.

Losing my mind was the least of my worries.
What could be worse than simply living?

The woman I loved and honoured did not recognize her baby on the yearly routine when we were meant to give her flowers—neither the man I met nor the space I once owned.

This was grey.

But who told you:

That adulthood makes everything clearer?
That greying makes you any wiser?
That turning thirty would have you owning mansions and placements well deserving of the days you’ve lived on this planet?

We are messy, from birth until death, yet somehow we come to terms with the journey of living, fighting, struggling, mending, and piecing our brokenness together every single day.

We are labourers and tillers until the Creator decides whose time it is next to take up the challenge.

Do your best!