If I Would Have a Day With my Father..

I would talk. I would talk and share every second that I selfishly keep from other people.
I would talk. I would talk about sports, movies, rotten coat I will never have, for the weather that always goes counterproductive to my hair.

would

 would be your dad your best friend?

I would have a best friend. I would have a person to eat ice-cream with. I would have a person for walks. I would have a person for endlessly honest laughing. I would have a best friend.
I would be typical me, who I hide so shyly under the seriousness and the obligations brought by the years. I would be selflessly me, I would honestly say that I hate my teeth. And he would say that that is the only thing he would never change about me. I would say that I hate rules, that people that are box thinkers and don’t have broad understandings, choke me. That I hate how my life turned into planed default and tediously organized maelstrom and a huge contradictory. That I to escape so much from here and I want to do that with a bike. And he will loudly think about the bike that could help me with this naïve (non) realization. That the most of the time I have no idea what I am doing, nor how the world function, nor how to let someone be a part of my triviality and that I don’t know what to do when there is nothing interesting on “Boomerang”.

I would have someone to buy me an umbrella. Someone who knows that I love umbrellas, but I never practice them.
I would ask for advice. I would allow me to be frail and for a moment will allow doing I don’t know what. And I will have the best advice in the most extreme boundaries of good intention.
I would cry for the missed chance because I didn’t know how to love. I would cry for all people met in a hyper wrong time. And he would say that the right time and the right people will come. But not now. And that will sound so cliché, but will calm me down in a weird way and will silent my head for a minute. 
I would be nostalgic for the time I’ve never lived. I would complain about how I am born at least 50 years later, and he would make me jealous telling me about that time like I am there so he could give me a reason for nostalgia.

He would tell me that I will be a great doctor and that he hopes that one day I will find a cure for the cancer that is killing him slowly. And I wouldn’t know what to say.
I would bring out all my crazy theories about superpowers and saving the world and other phenomena, and he would smile and say: That’s my girl.

And in the end, I would say to him that fried eggs for breakfast is not that bad idea and that I miss laughing about that we don’t have another thing for eating, that I miss him watching lottery while I am drawing and those ultra ugly drawings to hang up on a wall like I was Monet part 2 and that I miss him to tell me that he unconditionally believes in me. That I miss him, oh, I awfully miss him. And that I hate the word “would”.

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