Bruna’s doll house


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

lula avila

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.

Mael’s dad has no sons.

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Mael’s dad right now could be swimming or playing golf or buying new pants.
He could be doing anything.
For Mael’s dad doesn’t really have a son.
Mael is at the same place everyday.
A day off is out of the question.
So many things to do, so much responsabilities.
He wants to be a doctor.
And first things first.
They have the same eyes, but look at things in completely diferent ways.
(Funny how the same blood created such different things)
They have the same height and the same strenght, but they use it on opposite ways.
Mael wants to change the world.
He works with kids who have his same unanswered questions.
He doesn’t have any answers either but he undestands.
Mael’s dad wants to change his car again this year.
He dates girls too young to ask questions.
He wonders if he should go back to Rome or France, he needs a change.
He left his son to follow happiness, but happiness seems to keep moving away no matter what.
And they cross each other on the street sometimes but they never notice.
Mael’s dad head is always down, on a frown, lost on bills and regrets and numbers.

Mael’s head is up on a big smile, his white coat as pure and clean as his mind.

Funny how songs change


Teach me again.

I promise i’ll really listen, i promise i’ll be quiet.

Repeat that song.

The one you used to sing when i was tired.

I was so young the last time i heard it.

I was so young when you died.

So young to remember your smile, or your smell.


Sing me that song, sing me your story.

Because no one was listening to you the day you died.

I couldn’t go to your funeral, i was so little.

They let me eat a lot of candy that day, i don’t remember being sad.


I don’t remember your face, only that you loved birds.

That you kept them outside a cage and still they stayed.

That they loved you back.


Sing me that song,

Because all the memories are gone now that i know you were unhappy.

Sing me that song, the real one.

All your birds are now dead, we grew up, no one will judge.


Sing the truth about you, about your screaming mind, the long nights, about everything.

Open up your cage, you’re free to go.