Awakening: Mrs Pat's Kitchen

Arise little boy, to a home, Soaked in love, and bathed in traditions of yesteryear, with a tenderness that slowly slips to the verge of extinction, Modern times make the model family a modern art form that lacks understanding, yet what do we deprived, know of these scenes of endearment? Or the eccentric moments that should be cherished, remembered, and conventional, A mother playfully squeezes her son's cheek, as he returns the affection, with a kiss to hers, then gazes at the stepfather with respect, painting a memory for those of us who have become robots to the ways of a quintessential dwelling place, a place which we long to remember or , in some case, experience, Yet will never know the warmth of being a "baby" to a mother, or the "pride" of a fathers gaze, Still, such scenes do exist, and I have witnessed the momentary grace that is reached, when hearts become infinite, and embrace their own as well as newcomers, Sitting within the warm shelter of Pat's Kitchen, I record and rewind the events for reasons beyond my control, To make myself a member? To warm myself from the depths of my own neglect? Or to take value in what was deprived to me as a child? Reasons unknown or all known, this moment opens a part of me I assumed was condemned to the darkest depths of my isolation, Thus, I fight myself to run from, and be a part of this memory that is not mine, but the feeling, I envy. For a moment, my cynicism is disregarded, and after thirteen years, my eyes tear, my childhood is healed, and briefly, I feel awake,