Two lil black birds sitting on a tree
One named Annika, one named Geri
Fly away Annika, fly away Geri,
don't come back yet, until you're happy.

Smoke of stories of you, the wonderful mother. I always try to picture that than what i see throughout this life. But now i then chivalry assimilate the platitude that pain has made you something so easy to dissolve those memories.

Ps: It is not the recent dysfunction at home that created this post. It is not something that started with me. But it is the comfirming of reality, the avalanche of dirt that you cannot wash away no matter how hard you scrub.