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Carta de martírio.

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   Oi, meu amor.
   Eu gostaria de poder perguntar "como está?", só que seria em vão. Você não vai me responder. E dessa vez não é por birra, nem pra me dar um gelo depois de eu ter feito algo errado; é porque você se foi.
   Eu não sei porquê estou escrevendo isso, sabe? Eu poderia só estar chorando por ter que ver seus pais e amigos todos lá, de preto, quietos, com óculos escuros e com algumas lágrimas escorrendo pelo rosto; mas não, eu tenho que estar aqui, me iludindo, escrevendo algo pra você não esquecer de mim, ou pra te dizer que eu sinto muito. E como eu sinto...
   Eu estou me martirizando agora, por não ter visto que você estava mal. Meu amor, por que você não me disse que precisava de ajuda? Por que você me deixou? Por que você não me avisou que não estava mais feliz? Eu tentaria te ajudar, porque eu te amo. Só que o problema é que agora eu só estou aqui, fazendo perguntas aleatórias para um papel que não vai me dar resposta alguma. Eu não fui aquela a te salvar, eu não fui a que esteva com você quando você julgou ser pesado demais o preço da vida, eu não fui aquela que prometi ser. Porque eu prometi o pra sempre a você, mas eu menti.
   Nós não vamos estar juntos pra sempre; eu ainda estou respirando, mas agora a única promessa é a de lembrar do bom lado seu. O sorriso que você dava quando eu te via do outro lado da rua, as caretas pra falar sobre a comida da sua mãe, o seu gosto musical, totalmente o oposto do meu, a sua mania de dizer que eu era dramática por escrever sobre tudo. Cada dia chega mais perto da minha queda. Sem você aqui, tudo fica tão ruim.
   Eu não vou mais te ver nas reuniões de escola, nem poder dizer "até logo", não vou poder cozinhar ou comprar coisas que normalmente você não comeria para nós; eu não vou poder dizer que te amo, não tem mais razão pra isso. 
   Sabe qual é o problema do "pra sempre"? É que ele foi como uma aposta que fiz. Apostei que estaria certa e que você seria a eternidade pra mim, só que eu errei. E perdi. Todos perderam. 
   Naquele dia, em que vi você sem vida no chão, com os lábios gélidos, e sem o peito subindo e descendo, eu soube: eu não dei o valor quando te tinha. Você não tem noção do quanto me odeio agora; como você pode me deixar? Eu grito para as paredes, todos acham que enlouqueci, e chocolate não tem o mesmo gosto porque eu só consigo lembrar de você me dizendo que um dia eu passaria mal de tanto comer o doce. Você devastou a minha vida, e hoje eu te digo que não foi de uma maneira positiva. Como você foi egoísta, meu amor. Como você conseguiu fazer isso comigo?
   Eu nunca te disse "eu te amo", eu nunca me arrependi tanto, e eu nunca vou poder apagar da minha mente seu sorriso, que me parecia feliz. O único problema é que eu não te via sorrir a meses, e a ultima vez que eu vi foi no seu funeral. Eu entendi que você estava em paz, só que agora, eu é que estou no martírio. 
   Eu te amo, mesmo você não sabendo.
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Mom.

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I'll start this by saying "I'm sorry". I want to ask you to forgive me by worry lines, for the nights that I don't let you sleep cause I was sick, perhaps by not as you expected, for being too angry sometimes, or leave dirty dishes and shoes in the middle of the house, but even with all that I want you to know that I don't do on purpose, not just to leave you stressed.
   It is valid to say that I am writing this because you know how much I do not like you to see me cry, you looking at me with narrowed eyes, as if you were reading my mind and maybe understand why I was fading me in tears. But no, mother, you won't understand.
   You know, I think I never thanked you for everything ... for being so careful with me, for having the patience to tell me I'm wrong or that sometimes the world is not really what I expected, for loving me even when we fight, not let me out sometimes cause was too cold outside, by making stupid jokes to make me laugh when your drama daughter here is so tired of living in a world where nothing is as in a fairy tale as I always expected it to be, by stroking my hair when I fought with my best friend, for calling me stupid nicknames that both make me feel 6 years. Simply thank you for everything.
   Mom, you tell me you did not create me to yourrself, I'll go one day because that is what the children do; they are in the world, living their lives. You don't know how much it hurts me to hear that. You do not understand, do you? As much as I travel, I sleep away from home, I marry me or one of us simply go away, I'm with you, this bond is eternal. Our feeling is eternal, then mother, I'll never leave you.
   You may think I'm not leaving you because I feel guilty for all the times I made you sad and even cry; may find it because I feel indebted to all present for birthday, Christmas, and everything else, or maybe you think I'm not leaving because I think you're my responsibility. All alternatives are not true. I'm not leaving because I love you. I love you like I never could explain, and understand that maybe only the day that I have someone to call me mom.
   Mom, I love you and I'm not ashamed to say that I' will be forever that girl that gets sentimental when you hold me and say you love me aloud.  
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Hey, directioner!

`
                                                    
    Nothing else is like those teen times, isn't? Today we are married with kids, or maybe, only one, with the excuse of a better life; we work five or six days a week, to have it filled the void of a real happiness, with material things, or just with a occupied mind, so we won't notice that life has been crap since when it has become too serious.
   On a rainy Sunday, you see on the evening news that Zayn Malik died of respiratory problems and the funeral will be on Tuesday. Your husband looks at you for seconds and tears trickles down your cheeks. Zayn was your "platonic husband", the one that you always dreamed of knowing, embrace, staring eyes-colored honey as he smiles or simply take a photo and get an autograph to rub in the face of those who never believed it would happen.  In the end, your mate gets up, going to the room, after all, the next day has more bills to be resolved in a financial company or clients to be saved from jail.
   A week goes by, and no one speaks of the sweet boy who was Zayn. You ask yourself "boy"? He was no longer a boy, was a married man, with children, who stopped to sing for many, many years ago, and that made you cry when it happened, remember?
   On Saturday, your husband and your son leave teh house, so they can play football, and let you at home alone. After hearing the noise of the car leaving the garage, you run downstairs into the room and go to your closet, to find a box of plastic. Magazines, posters, cds, photos, t-shirts, letters and notes, about the band, were there. You get the cd, and put close to your body, as a child taking their books to school, so excited, so curious, so captivated by the "unknown". The dvd was on the shelf, that soon was on and playing the songs that once cradled your crying, dancing like an idiot all over the house, others will make you laugh. You watch the show again, reminiscent of songs that were saved all that time in your head, but for some reason were never sung in the bath, or while you wash dishes or cook.
   Become a fan is something funny, something intense, is something that makes you think, and for some reason, should not be forgotten. Become a fan makes you happy, makes you stupid, but every little thing, it's a part of you. One day, they will get married, have kids, dismantle the band, and you'll remember when you swore to auction his kidney, on Ebay, to be able to go on the concert, but you didn't do that, of course. Some were grounded, others had no money and some simply forgot how it made you laugh. 
    Harry married a Playboy girls, younger than him, had no children and produces new artists to success, Liam is a wonderful father, since his wife died giving birth to their twins. Louis... Louis the wacky, that never changes, and never married. Niall became a chef and also has no wife, but adopted a boy, who's the passion of his life. For some reason, when you search it on the internet, you will open an idiotic grin on your face, and you will think of the friends that you made on Twitter, the fights with other fandoms, when songs from the new albums were leaked and everyone was screaming and everything.
   You know, one day everything will be gone too, no one will understand your tears, your laughter, or even your dancing. Hopefully that day, you understand that nothing comes back, everything was intense as could be, but now it's over.
   Remember that look in your dad's face when you was dancing "Kiss You" in your room? That funny thing that you saw in a video diary, like a pigeon called Kevin? Well, you'll remember.
   Your life returns to normal for a month, but then you come back to read fanfictions, listen to music, watch videos, draw their names on the wrist and all those things, or even humming WMYB or LWWY. Then you discover that they returned to sing together in a pub, in London, in Zayn's memory. Undoubtedly, you go there. You're fired, but who cares? Sometimes you have to make sure , not reason.
   Harry, Liam, Louis and Niall are with sunglasses, and you understand that is for the Malik. Some songs go by and you smile, cry in some parts and then, your legs tremble: They were part of your imagination for about three years, and now they were there, real, not in print or online photos.
   It's not just a band, it's a little part of me, so you have to enjoy now.
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Memories.

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   I hate keeping looking the pictures from when I was just a kid and sudelly I start to cry, I hate have to search for things about college, and don't have time; don't have time to spend with my grandparents, to learn some new cooking recipe for that candy that my grandmother makes in every Christmas or birthday... and I find myself saying "wow, I miss that" several times a day, you know? I miss what just happened because I know I can not do it again, either through lack of courage or do not have time. The worst thing is knowing that I spend too much time dreading the day when I will not be able to see the smile most of whom I love, I'm not going to say and hear "I love you"; why parents are not eternal?
   Probably my parents don't even know the nights that I grabbed the pillow and cried, cried like I was being tortured, or as if a piece of me was being ripped off, when in fact I was just shaking with the idea that one day I could not be more the reason why my mom is proud of and my father's little girl. Why can not you stay with me forever with me? I pray every night to be with me that in eternity, where the "eternal" is really valid. I know, I know, too much time crying by step that will come and forget to live now, but I just have fear for your happiness, and mine too,  consecutively.
   Friends also make me cry ... those moments we laugh so much that stomach hurts. Sometimes we spent the whole night awake, the moment that the parents of my best friend - he's a boy - came into the room and he and I were holding hands and embraced, and then we packed up quickly so do not think that there was something else, and then laughed, returning to be that same way.
   I know nothing, NOTHING is forever, so I can't expect a miracle to make everything I love never spoil - like chocolate, or die; unfortunately my only alternative is never say goodbye. Never. Under no circumstances. Saying goodbye is to be prepared to break up and forget. I hope to make stupid jokes I have to do, hug someone while walking sideways because it makes us walk like retarded, get a stuffed animal in the middle of a toy store and dance with him, eat ice cream and sit on the benches a small square where potheads have - certainly not need to have the potheads, but in my example because it is an inside joke. Life is much more than "goodbye" because we have all received one so because some people did not take our company enough to know how much a goodbye is significant, not able to understand our mind idiotically genius, laughed at the stupid joke ...
   I do not care how many times I cried for friendships, how many times I ate a chocolate brigadier to feel better, many times I flooded the bathroom with my tears. The times when I was  at the orphanage and a small kid grabbed my leg, begging for affection and I gave in wholeheartedly, the times when I hugged someone to make her smile. At the end we return to dust, some bones last longer than others and nobody, not even our children will bring flowers to the graves. That will happen. But I prefer to give my last breath remembering the souls that I saved for God, the true smiles I saw and I teased it, the moments that shook in his hands and shouted in excitement at the thought of a dream.
   That's what matters, you know? The bad times will strengthen, but someone who is just strong don't know the good side of life, this sensitive side, who loves and is loved, that knows how to live alongside whom holds dear, is that side that makes life worth living it, is this side that makes a person able to live day by day without trying to kill yourself or just tired of everything.
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Pai.

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   Sabe, pai, eu nunca pude dizer o quanto te amo... você com esse jeito de brincar; eu nunca soube o quando você me ama por palavras, porque vindas de você, eu não preciso delas. Eu sei que você me ama quando me segura pela mão quando estamos passeando; e nunca importou a minha idade porque eu vou sempre a sua menininha. Ou também quando você me fala do mesmo assunto diversas vezes, e eu vou te confessar: eu já sei de todos eles de trás para frente, é que eu amo o jeito que você tenta me explicar tudo nos mínimos detalhes para que eu seja alguém melhor, ou sei lá o que. Ah, e como poderia esquecer do gesto mais simples, mas que até pouco tempo eu não havia ligado os pontos: o seu lado da cama. É nele que eu durmo a tarde, quando estou cansada de tudo; quando quero descansar a cabeça; quando quero sentir o seu cheiro, pai, porque é ele que me acalma.
   Eu não sei explicar o quanto dependo de você; e não é em um modo financeiro; é do suas piadas, com ou sem graça; é do seu jeito de arrumar o óculos quando ele está pendendo na ponta na nariz; é da sua bermuda com estampa militar que você sempre usa; é do seu esforço por querer me dar o melhor.
   Pai, eu te agradeço imensamente por tudo que me deu, por tudo que me ensinou, por sempre querer o meu melhor, por sempre me fazer rir com coisas idiotas. Eu te amo tanto que não sei as palavras certas. Só acho que um “eu te amo” deve ser um bom começo.
   Eu te amo, pai.
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