MTA as Inspiration

P.O.V

"Let Mommy hold your hand now"

What was heard, the statement above, my thoughts turned to those of something other than what I was.

And I closed my eyes, a blank slate, erased, suddenly I realized those words were what my mother was hiding behind, but my mother did not look at me when those words were said, because she did not hear those words being said.

It's often peculiar how mothers are treated, especially by their own children, and we are all children of our mothers, are we not?

It's funny, children don't see the gift, gifted upon themselves, too many materialistic things are in the way.

Their vision is clouded, something we cannot see, something only they can see.

Muddled, their memories are stained with the fresh feeling of exhilaration.

Their first kiss, dance, crush, phone, friend.

Why is that important?

Whereas, their first steps, crawling experience, meal.

The stories behind these memories, the details that make up ones character.

These aren't important to them.

Too many materialistic things in the way.