When I was a very young, I remembered the kind and gentle face that was my mother. In the few memories that I could recall, I often remembered her doing cross-stitch on a sheet of cloth while I affectionately sat against her tall figure on a bed with her great lock of shiny brown hair and pillows behind us. From what I could recall, she was an avid chef who frequented the kitchen often, she whipped up wonderful meals with a bright smile always on her face.
When I was a young innocent little boy, there was a special place that I played in. It was a place where was my dreams took flight, where I could imagine I was up in the sky among the stars with fluffy white magnolia clouds around me while watching a beautiful sunset. A place where the impossible was possible, this pace was my bedroom.
In my first house, there were lovely floral decorations along with paintings beautified by the light from the many windows in the house. However, when dark came and all was still and silent, the 3rd floor was an unspoken forbidden place fo a young boy such as myself. It was eerie and frightening with many dark crooks and crannies within.
These were some of my earliest memories.