Expectations can be claustrophobic.
I need a set of rules to give direction to my life, but the ones that I write, the ones that allow me to be myself.
I refuse to carry the burden of their dreams and projection of their unfulfilled wishes.
Yet, when I return from the battlefield, battered and broken, I expect a warm hearth and welcoming smiles.
What is it that binds kinfolk to each other – a shared past or the gene pool?
In other words, kinfolk ….. at Patricia’s Place