Scotch tape people

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I throw and break things when i’m angry; then immediately feel bad and try to glue them back together a second later.

That’s why i’m glad people are not breakable.

I could just see the people who have loved me walking around cracked and full of scotch tape; and me staying around them forever out of guilt for the pieces i could never put back…

Old happy stars

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Do you remember when you were a kid?

And every shinny thing in the sky looked like a star?

I would spend hours staring, even before it became dark, just so i could catch the first one.

When did stars become boring?

When did i stopped searching for them?

I need them back.

I need all those stars i found when i was a girl.

And the wishes i made on them too.

And the people that was by my side.

I need all the things i left behind…

Bruna’s doll house

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Bruna stopped believing on people the night her mother died.

Humans were so fragile; she needed something real to hold.

Her father stopped believing on families the night his wife died.

He looked down at the messy blonde child and couldn’t find any place to fit her in now that the mother was gone.

He hired a nanny and moved on.

 

Growing up with no heroes around Bruna began to believe on things.

She doesn’t feel anymore.

She has.

She has the nicest house, she has concert tickets, she has Channel.

These things she can count, touch, she can understand.

 

Her father spends some nights talking to an old wedding picture:

“I miss you.

We need to talk about your daughter.

We need to talk about the things i know nothing about”

But morning comes and his old pain gets drowned on his pills and endless meetings.

 

They only face each other at breakfast.

Both of them sit very straight, wearing white and gray.

They are quiet, they rarely eat.

Two survivors of very different wars.

 

She scrolls through her cell phone, he reads the news.

They hold on to the things on their hands.

Not noticing the person in front is barely holding on to life.

About the other one

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You call him selfish, you call him bitter.

You only talk to him once or twice a year.

You call him brother.

But you two don’t have the same dad.

You have a dad who raised a perfect family in a nice, small white house.

You have a father who still sends your mother flowers for no reason, parents who dress up and date every other weekend, a younger sister that’s your best friend.

He has a dad who left.

A calendar dad, with arranged dates, hours, minutes.

His mom taught him to shave.
(But it was not the same, he never got it right)

And he wanted to love you, he really did, because you were just a little baby, the first baby he ever held.

But he started getting less visits and less gifts after you came along.

And kids understand with feelings, not reasons.
You woke up an angry voice inside him, one he’d never heard before.

You want a brother because it would be another sprinkle to add to your life. Fun! A bigger family. Another seat at Christmas dinner, another pair of lips to make laugh.

He wants a brother to explain some of the empty spaces that don’t let his life add up.

And you’re never going to be what he needs, and he’ll never be what you need.

Still you hug every holiday, you exchange presents, you call each other brother.

But you might as well be strangers, that simply happened to look alike.