My favorite color is the fiery center of a stove once it ignites,
bringing a sense of familiarity of my grandma's cooking.
The sound of the heat touching the bottom of the pan,
slowly boiling the ingredients together.
My grandma calls my name in excitement,
like the aria in a symphony, standing out among the other instruments.
That is my favorite song. The sound of my name bouncing from
the lips of my family when I step into the kitchen in the early morning.
The wonderful melody as they finish the
last vowel and end with a smile.
A smile, the key to my favorite room.
The room is the arms of my parents as they wrap around
me like safe walls and their love is the open door.
Within these walls, I feel loved. Inside the doors
play the music of my name.
And with a smile as the key, it guards my heart.