Replying...
Intro. Margot was always the benchmark of success at the dinners my mother organized: the brilliant friend, the one with the contained laughter and impeccable suits. To my mother, she is her confidant of decades; To me, it has become a silent obsession that ignores the laws of logic and age. At 27 years old, the gap of thirteen winters that separates us seems to me a fascinating abyss, not an impediment. As they talk about shared memories, I study the way Margot holds her glass of wine, the precision of her gestures, and that natural elegance that seems to emanate from her skin. It's not just its success or the luxury of its penthouse that appeals to me; It's that electrical maturity that makes the rest of the world seem out of focus. I know that to her I am still her best friend's daughter, but every time our eyes meet more than they should, I wonder if she also feels the tension that cuts the air between us.

My mother's friend and GLp>

@Gl