the truth is, very little of your life as a child is reflected in the one that you live today.
plagued with poverty and nights spent without sleep, you find solace in the rare, quiet moments between hefty schedules.
while you spend most of your time around the dying or the dead, the untrusted, those who breach promises, there is still a small spark, a dormant flame awaiting ignition, a voice that cries—
—you are alive! and you are! you’ve left the docile grandness of your old life behind, alongside a faded mother, father, brother, and instead indulge in the simpler pleasures of life.
when you can, you cook, experimenting with new recipes a kindhearted colleague had gushed about, or ones you’d located on the internet—
—paired with the cheapest ingredients and alternatives you can muster.
either way, it seems to take less strength to place a smile upon your face when there’s a slice of warm cherry pie on the plate in front of you, either homemade—
—or purchased at the inexpensive bakery down the road.