I miss Paris Métro. I miss our futile attempts to read the Métro map. I miss Parisians' effortlessly chic outfits and modernistic ads that oddly harmonize with dim, historic stations. I miss taking photos of approaching trains. I miss the feel of déjà vu in old, metallic trains. I miss the amicable chuckles as we mispronounced the stations. I miss the days when my biggest troubles were figuring out where, when and what to explore at Paris. I miss myself.
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迄今為止我消化得最好也最喜歡的一部伯格曼作品恨不得把臺詞全文背誦(上一次有這種感覺邊將家的小媳婦是讀茨威格的《老公》)人的一生仿佛都貫穿著某種悲劇的本質(zhì)即使母親是更盡責的母親女兒是不那么敏感的女兒這個事實也不會改變理應最親密的人就會帶來最大的痛苦和最深的隔閡Helena 是 Eva 的 B 面