Old French lady remembers her childhood written as a dialogue between her and herself (may sound hack to cynics but rips!)
about how the most innocuous things our parents say form glaciers of personality and habit
unforgettable!
something so comforting about waking up in the room you grew up in as a kid
itβs such a familiar yet distant view, like waking up to a past life - the posters, the books, the shelves lined with stuffed animals and random trinkets
