My Grandmother's Empty House Full of Memories
It’s a cold December morning. The sun gently touches the frosted windows and chimney smoke is spread all around the village. She waits at the door, tremendously happy to see me. Nothing has changed. I remember the house the same way as when I was a child. The calendar of me and my parents from 2000 is still there, hanging on the wooden wall in the corridor. Coffee is already on the table. She sits on her armchair and lights a cigarette. So many clocks but time doesn’t exist. TV’s on for background noise to break the silence, while she knits socks for the winter. She turns it off when I enter the room. It’s warm inside my grandmother’s house.
Iliyana Grigorova • Susana Hill • Sophie Somers •