Take time to observe the burning deficit.
Investigate closely the smoldering hole.
Smell the glue and the plywood peeling away in hot smokes.
There are insects buzzing about your face, obscuring your view of the event.
Try to ignore them, or look at them with kindness as they're settling softly on your iris.
Moth on a window, moth on a window, moth on a window, i'm a moth on a window. I saw it in a dream so it must be true, we're both on windows me and you.
Don't listen to me, I don't know what I'm talking about,
I'm clambering through the rubble just like you.
The universe is buffering,
We're waiting for it too load as cradle the cols of loneliness.
These white-hot kernals of longing will eventually burst open leaving floral shapes that melt in the mouth.
It's not a proverb, it's a guess, it's all bollocks, it's the truth.