She is a beautiful woman, with small blue veins running along her sleep. Cupourose on her flushed cheeks always reminds long apples lying in an attic. She is resolute, but also motherly, in a somewhat tiresome way. It seems like she teaches at my school since time immemorial, but her youthful appearance suggests otherwise. Maybe teaching keeps her young.
I never show her my writings, but if I would like to show someone, then to her. She inspires me confidence and that feeling I do not know where it comes from. My mother, who is now peacefully lying in her coffin, surrounded by thousands of flowers, would have understood little of my writing. She was not the type long thought about her experiences, but rather someone who acted immediately and often only then realized that she had reacted too quickly.
Wordt vertaald, even geduld aub..
