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Hi, Dad.

So, i still don’t like soccer. I tried.

I would like you to tell me ‘What now?’, you know? I mean, where to go. It’s kinda tricky, the whole ‘you have to think for yourself, make your own path’ thing.

You knew, didn’t you, that i don’t think like you, that i don’t hope in life for the same things that you do. Did you? Because i think you did, and still i think there was something else, some level where you made me into exactly what you wanted… I can’t really explain, but it has something to do with ironing your will upon the world, making a mark, and, to use words that are not yours at all, to exert the utmost of your violence.

I can hurt. I can cause pain. As afraid of it as i might be, i can do it. And the thing is, i’m subtle at it.

Subtle, i came to find out, means sharp. We use it usually for intrincate and very hard to grasp, but still is sharp, and that it comes from there makes a lot of sense.

So, i want to know: Should i hurt people? Who should i hurt? And how much?

I know it is a tool, you taught me that much. But i still don’t see it. I still don’t see the whole. I see a lot, but there are important parts missing.

Yes, i know, keep on improvising. But allow me to not pretend it is easy.

I’m better than you at solitude, a lot really. But i could still use some tips about love.

Just… I love you, dad. In my own impossible way, i love you. Be light.

Posted by Wordmobi

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