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.


Luis was born a painter (he’ll never know)

Luis was born an artist.
His fingers, like pencils, ready to live.

Except no one gave him a canvas.

The family business was accountancy.

His father’s hobby were fast cars.
His brother loved football.

So he grew up swimming in cars, soccer balls, numbers.
He grew up wanting racing cars for christmas.
He though that was all, he never knew.

His fingers locked up like colors on a box.
Luis locked up in an office on a suit.

His beard trimmed, his hair slicked back.
How could he imagine? He never knew.

And his hands that only learned how to make numbers wake up at night.
They open and close while he sleeps.
And he dreams.
He dreams waves of colors that make no sense, that eat him alive.

He rises at 6:45, to the digits on his alarm.
Drinks 1 cup of coffee, black.

Irons a nice shirt, drives to work, greets co-workers, makes a joke, has a light lunch, meets a friend for a beer, 2 beers, 3 beers, says goodbye, drives home, calls his beautiful girlfriend, smiles.

Then he drops to his knees on the shower and completely breaks down.
His hands hurt.
His head (that only learned numbers) has no idea why…

People say, people love to say…


This couple promised each other they would be together forever.

And they meant to, they weren’t lying, they really did.


They even built a house, a really nice one.

They had a pool, a big bed and a dog.

As the years went by they loved each other still.


They said forever and they meant to do it.

They built that big house, a really tall one, they were proud.

They were on its roof one day, the view was amazing and they got carried away.

They pretended they were birds and had wings, they closed their eyes and flapped their arms.

Only that for one of them they actually worked.

He rose.

He started to fly.

He went away.


It doesn’t matter which one of them it was, it can be anyone.

It’s simple luck.


People say forever.

And they mean it.

But it’s not always people who decide.

The lovers have been lying again.


The lovers are lying again.

Not eating, sleeping less and less.

Staring at each other, questions alive in their eyes.

The lovers are lying pink lies, blue lies, nothing real.

Keeping a knive under the matress.

A fast car ready, a loaded gun at the goodbye.

Forgetting beds and hearts have windows.

And the world is looking in.