marcellina95

I was eight years old when my mother committed suicide. I found then, and now, that everything changes. Once I realized why she wanted to escape so. I understand now why she had to. I do not know why I was so calm at the funeral. I've never cried when she was gone, but I felt that the world had ended. By the time I was eleven, I had grown into an adult trained in the body of a child, I was too serious and pretentious, and spoiled. I was raised after the death of my mother by a distant great aunt, and lived in an isolated area in northern Britain in a strictly French atmosphere, where the moss greened the white stone like smoke, and the cei