Dear grandmother,
Even if your arms cradled me, even if I fell asleep with my head on your chest, their memory remained closed in deep childhood memories, which I do not remember. I do not have a clear picture of your face, only photos I can imagine the heat that transmission to others. I built my imagination and taste of the broth, the cherry pie or pound cake Easter.
Your voice does not sound to me. I do not know how you call my name and said I do not know the words of endearment which I say, any song you're humming before I sleep. Your gestures I have built in words that my mother, sister and cousins're describing.Ddē
