The fact that my mom thought if she recommended her childhood favorite books to me when I was a kid I'd purposefully avoid reading them (out of kid contrariness) hurts so much. She looked at this kid who was desperate for any scrap of her life and thought I wouldn't care.
When I was fourteen and home from boarding school for the first break and found out she'd stopped putting honey in her tea I also immediately stopped doing it, because whatever she did was clearly the Right Way to live, but she didn't see it.
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