<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039</id><updated>2011-11-01T17:59:39.179-07:00</updated><title type='text'>O incerto é tão natural.</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>51</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-3018379994996050911</id><published>2011-11-01T17:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-11-01T17:55:17.537-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Os textos que eu escrevi e você nunca leu. Sempre achei que quando lemos algo, algo de nós fica no texto, o dito e o não dito, as impressões que guardamos do texto e as que as letras guardam de nós.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quantos textos eu escrevi pra você, quantas letras &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;milimétricamente&lt;/span&gt; colocadas em ordem só pra você. Quantas eu vou &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;guardar&lt;/span&gt; pra mim. Sempre esperando as suas respostas, sempre ansiando voltar no tempo, sempre parecendo ter a maior &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;tristeza&lt;/span&gt; do mundo nas mãos e no peito.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu continuo sangrando, mas você não vê.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Espero o dia em que você possa compreender o que eu não posso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Estou no furacão e você no refrão.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não me deixe ir! As minhas malas estão prontas, não posso mais sangrar...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-3018379994996050911?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/3018379994996050911/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=3018379994996050911' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3018379994996050911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3018379994996050911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2011/11/os-textos-que-eu-escrevi-e-voce-nunca.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-3129532686375724326</id><published>2011-11-01T17:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-11-01T17:40:03.099-07:00</updated><title type='text'>letras reunidas.</title><content type='html'>você costuma se lembrar, de como &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;eramos&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Do quanto &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;sonhavamos&lt;/span&gt; e de como as pessoas no criticavam por todas as nossas crenças e escolhas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu me lembro de como você costumava falar dos seus dias, das suas ideias e do seus ideais. Nós &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;éramos&lt;/span&gt; tão jovens o mundo era nosso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu costumava rir do teu jeito passional, da tua bondade desmedida.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O seu olho era tão preto e profundo, que cabia todos os meus problemas, eu podia ser o que eu realmente sou, só ali não havia reprovações &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;expectativas&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tive um dia duro.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Queria poder dar o mundo pra você.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um pouco mais de chuva.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-3129532686375724326?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/3129532686375724326/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=3129532686375724326' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3129532686375724326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3129532686375724326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2011/11/letras-reunidas.html' title='letras reunidas.'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-3226645676965176526</id><published>2010-07-05T07:28:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-05T07:41:45.824-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ponta de língua.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;Sobre todas as coisas que ficam na ponta da língua:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;as meias verdades que saem de nós! &lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#00CCCC;"&gt;Metade do inteiro que se vai&lt;/span&gt;. Os pedaços que ficam com você.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;É sempre metade!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;O inteiro se parte, o medo nos cega e faz  sermos aquilo que já não eramos!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Na ponta da língua sempre fica o amor que não deixamos escapar por entres os dentes, o grito ensurdecedor que ecoa dentro de nós , a verdade dos nossos conceitos.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Na pontinha da língua fica o sorriso e sincero e o que escapa e o esboço amarelado!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;seja inteiro! você.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Por isso viva, deixe na ponta da língua só o que não é bom! Deixe se perder de você o escuro&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;peça perdão mais vezes!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sinta muito a ausência e não permita que ela faça parte de você&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Deixe a água escorrer por entre os olhos. Mostre aquilo que você acredita...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;E viva em novidade de vida TODOS OS DIAS!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;ou ao menos busque isso com todas as suas forças!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-3226645676965176526?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/3226645676965176526/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=3226645676965176526' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3226645676965176526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3226645676965176526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2010/07/ponta-de-lingua.html' title='ponta de língua.'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-8772453044979254805</id><published>2010-06-29T19:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-29T19:45:20.048-07:00</updated><title type='text'>∞</title><content type='html'>adormecida, seu rosto parecia sonhar!&lt;div&gt;aos poucos os sonhos se vão e os sentidos tomam conta do corpo.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;as mãos sentem o conforto dos lençóis, e então o olfato capta a neblina lá fora, é o cheiro de chuva passada, os olhos teimam em manter-se fechados!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;O telefone vibra, parece estar no outro lado do mundo. meus pensamentos me cercam e rapidamente tomam conta de mim, e de repente não sei se é o despertador ou alguém, aperto o botão de desligar sem nenhuma dúvida, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;mais cinco minutos ! Era só o que eu queria.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;argh o barulho de novo, e então&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;um alô, eu me pergunto quem é! e escuto: você sempre desliga na primeira, um sorriso!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;O de todos esses anos. Escovo os dentes e escuto tantos sonhos,tantos dias&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Quanto de nós está nos velhos álbuns guardados nos quartos de nossas mães, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;embora saiba que jamais lerá isto. Eu sinto sua falta, e quero que vá bem! Pra mim por mais longo e intensa o tempo e a distancia , será como que férias de verão! eu sei que vou morrer de saudades, mas nos vemos logo. te guardarei e contarei nossos feitos, prosas e risos. sempre que sentir sua falta. te aguardo meu velho,meu irmão &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-8772453044979254805?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/8772453044979254805/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=8772453044979254805' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/8772453044979254805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/8772453044979254805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2010/06/blog-post.html' title='∞'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-5468908493025595354</id><published>2010-06-20T19:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-20T19:54:58.726-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Outra vez eu errei.&lt;div&gt;As estrelas se calam, na minha presença. Elas sabem as máscaras que carrego no bolso, estrelando cada dia um movimento levemente ensaiado. Eu vou.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Indo pelos cantos sem muitos encantos, com meus mil e um conceitos.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mas eu errei.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;e por mais que me esquive de cada ato, todos eles me seguem como se fossem uma parte de mim, eu vejo velhos retratos na estante, os sonhos empoeirados, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;O tempo passa!Eu mudo cada palavra, eu mudei tanto. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Deus , o que eu me tornei ? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-5468908493025595354?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/5468908493025595354/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=5468908493025595354' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/5468908493025595354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/5468908493025595354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2010/06/outra-vez-eu-errei.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-3981739276416974669</id><published>2010-06-05T15:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-05T15:18:43.672-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Um trecho.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif, Verdana; font-size: 12px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#336666;"&gt;Não sinto&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif, Verdana; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#336666;"&gt; nada&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif, Verdana; font-size: 12px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#336666;"&gt; mais ou menos, ou eu gosto ou não gosto. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#336666;"&gt;Não sei sentir em doses homeopáticas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#336666;"&gt;. Preciso e gosto de intensidade, mesmo que ela seja ilusória e se não for assim, prefiro que não seja. Não me apetece viver histórias medíocres, paixões não correspondidas e pessoas água com açúcar. Não sei brincar e ser café com leite. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif, Verdana; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#336666;"&gt;Só quero na minha vida gente que transpire adrenalina de alguma forma, que tenha coragem suficiente pra me dizer o que sente antes, durante e depois ou que invente boas estórias caso não possa vivê-las. Porque eu acho sempre muitas coisas - porque tenho uma mente fértil e delirante - &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif, Verdana; font-size: 12px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#336666;"&gt;e porque posso achar errado - e ter que me desculpar - e detesto pedir desculpas embora o faça sem dificuldade se me provarem que eu estraguei tudo achando o que não devia. Quero grandes histórias e estórias; quero o amor e o ódio; quero o mais, o demais ou o nada. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#336666;"&gt;Não me importa o que é de verdade ou o que é mentira, mas tem que me convencer, extrair o máximo do meu prazer e me fazer crêr que é para sempre quando eu digo convicto que "nada é para sempre".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#336666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#336666;"&gt;Gabriel Garcia Márquez&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-3981739276416974669?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/3981739276416974669/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=3981739276416974669' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3981739276416974669'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3981739276416974669'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2010/06/um-trecho.html' title='Um trecho.'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-8638415590748677884</id><published>2010-05-21T06:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-25T07:21:19.977-07:00</updated><title type='text'>podia ser VOCÊ!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/S_acJDp0QhI/AAAAAAAAAPM/y5yaMZV650Y/s1600/1794763.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 246px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/S_acJDp0QhI/AAAAAAAAAPM/y5yaMZV650Y/s320/1794763.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473734076528869906" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;   Era aquela varanda, os moveis já não eram os mesmos dez anos se passará, retornar outrora parecia tão distante, mas ali estava. E ali queria estar.passou a mão em seus cabelos deixou se guiar pelo costume, deixou seu corpo cair pelos cantos da casa. Ecoava saudade. Correu como se ainda tivesse dez anos de idade, e os teve naquele momento, sua mente vagou, para se encontrar em algum tempo perdido por sua memória. Cerrou os olhos para ouvir melhor as lembranças que o velho casebre guardará.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;   O silêncio a embalou suavemente. E então estava em sua penteadeira cheia de Barbies, sonhos e doces. Seu violoncelo no canto do quanto parecia sorrir. Ao som de pisadas inconfundíveis sua mãe esbravejava: Louças sujas, roupas pelo chão e cama desfeita. aaah, Clarice viu seu fim. Abrindo a porta indelicadamente  a mãe de Clarice entrou, a menina pulou em sua cama mal percebeu que sua mãe havia feito o mesmo riam e pulavam até que o fôlego começará a faltar . Então caíram na pequena cama &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;   Dona Isabel sentiu um fio de orgulho, era o dia de mais um grande recital. Puxou um vestido daqueles que se vê nos contos de fada. Clarice vestiu e com um laço nos cabelos esperou por seu pai e seu irmão, clarice esperou um dia, dois, três .... E então perdeu-se o encanto, o canto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;   Isabel já não sorria, chorava com a alma. Até que o telefone tocou ...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;   E então não havia pai, nem irmão...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;    &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;  Clarice tinha dez anos, quando viu a alegria se separar de Isabel. Ela tinha dez anos quando conheceu a tristeza.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;   A menina tocou, para que a música encontrasse seu pequeno irmão, tocou para fazer seu pai chegar cheio de gomas de máscar , tocou para ver a mãe parar de chorar . Tocou até sangrar seus dedos pequenos e finos, tocou a saudade, tocou a tristeza. Tocou...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;até alcançar os céus. Então os olhos de Deus choraram junto aos dela, choraram todos os pássaros, árvores  e o dia se pôs só .&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;   Adormeceu. até ouvir a voz de sua avó, que lhe contou sobre um seqüestro, Clarice nunca tinha ouvido essa palavra antes , mas sabia que naquela palavra cabia sua tristeza. Sua vó continuo. Clarice interrompeu a voz embargada. Sabia que seu irmão tinha sentido medo, sabia que jamais voltaria a vê-lo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;   Isabel e clarice se foram da velha casa. Mas por ali todos diziam que a menina podia alcançar o céu com seu cello.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;   Clarice despertou. Estava no sofá. Era tarde . E ela tinha mais um recital . Pôs se encantada novamente , dirigiu-se a velha sala vila lobos . Na capital do país, onde seu pai e irmão haviam vivido. E tocou em memória a eles, tocou para os que financia o tráfico e tiram dia e noite um pouco da alegria do mundo. Sua música alcançou cada baseado aceso, cada copo de cerveja e por um minuto trouxe lucidez ao mundo , a menina levou todos a tocar o céu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;  line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#336666;"&gt;Essa carta pode ser lida em vários olhos. Meu querido leitor, algumas delas não tem finais felizes e esperançosos espero que se lembre da menina de dez anos que conheceu a tristeza quando for acender seu próximo cigarro!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-8638415590748677884?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/8638415590748677884/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=8638415590748677884' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/8638415590748677884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/8638415590748677884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2010/05/era-aquela-varanda-os-moveis-ja-nao.html' title='podia ser VOCÊ!'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/S_acJDp0QhI/AAAAAAAAAPM/y5yaMZV650Y/s72-c/1794763.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-7190077428168050347</id><published>2010-05-07T09:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-07T09:18:23.190-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Um .</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/S-Q8ZJsM0mI/AAAAAAAAAPE/sNxY9WTsT94/s1600/13022010(004).jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/S-Q8ZJsM0mI/AAAAAAAAAPE/sNxY9WTsT94/s320/13022010(004).jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468562250330329698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E era como se tudo fizesse sentido. Como se cada palavra dita se encaixasse em sete letras.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Se cada sorriso fosse apenas o inicio, que se transformava em uma saudade, saudade...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dessas saudades que te deixa desconcertado.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Que te faz esperar um dia inteiro.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Que faz o chão correr dos teus pés a espera.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Que transforma.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Que para o mundo,une todos os sons das esquinas, das portas entre abertas, o grito da vizinha.A musicalidade dos dias mais comuns.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;E então você encontra. No meio de tantos os outros olhos, aqueles que foram criados para os seus.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;Um ano se passará.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;E o chão teima em correr, os ponteiros ainda teimam em se prenderem as horas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;Quando se aguardam.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;O incerto é sempre tão natural.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#3366FF;"&gt;Meu amor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-7190077428168050347?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/7190077428168050347/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=7190077428168050347' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/7190077428168050347'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/7190077428168050347'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2010/05/um.html' title='Um .'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/S-Q8ZJsM0mI/AAAAAAAAAPE/sNxY9WTsT94/s72-c/13022010(004).jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-1934380248273640569</id><published>2010-04-19T09:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-19T09:14:01.208-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Algumas vezes precisamos de tempo...&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...outras vezes o tempo precisa de nós.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;sempre se vai,mas nem sempre se quer ir.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;                         &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;                                             paradoxo inevitável essa nossa mania de viver. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;E não há nada mais belo,que o incerto.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;HOJE ONTEM AMANHÃ OUTRORA HORA EMBORA.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;as exclamações, se fazem e refazem.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A linha do arco- íris , sua retina.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;sua mão teu asfalto.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;o mundo quem faz é você. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;SEJA MAIS.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Para não deixar de sonhar.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-1934380248273640569?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/1934380248273640569/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=1934380248273640569' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/1934380248273640569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/1934380248273640569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2010/04/algumas-vezes-precisamos-de-tempo.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-2734371230271342985</id><published>2010-02-18T10:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-12T07:38:08.349-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/S5pfrZlfNSI/AAAAAAAAAMc/s_k8vRwvbmU/s1600-h/popart.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/S5pfrZlfNSI/AAAAAAAAAMc/s_k8vRwvbmU/s320/popart.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447771898465170722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-family: courier new;"&gt;E quem vai estar ali quando o nó não for mais tão apertado &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-family: courier new;"&gt;quando as lágrimas não se conterem no peito.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-family: courier new;"&gt;Eu vou explodir, é o que eu faço de melhor. Todos os meus dramas com sabores mexicanos, entre as madrugadas, eu sei eu vou desligar o telefone, eu sei que você vai ligar, eu sei que quando o nó não apertar você vai estar lá ; eu sei você vai rir. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-family: courier new;"&gt;veja bem meu bem, esse medo é só detalhe.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-family: courier new;"&gt;Na verdade o medo é fundamental e todos os sentimentos que existem também o são.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-2734371230271342985?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/2734371230271342985/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=2734371230271342985' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/2734371230271342985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/2734371230271342985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2010/02/e-quem-vai-estar-ali-quando-o-no-nao.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/S5pfrZlfNSI/AAAAAAAAAMc/s_k8vRwvbmU/s72-c/popart.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-4783499015954170101</id><published>2010-01-02T10:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-02T11:14:08.652-08:00</updated><title type='text'>e depois?</title><content type='html'>depois do riso, o silêncio cortava a alma.&lt;div&gt;depois do riso, o silêncio.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;O toque que antes acariciava, hoje corta o peito.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;a voz que acalentava, hoje ensurdece a alma.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;depois do riso, o silêncio.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;ainda está tudo bem? - ele disse.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;ela não ouviu, o silêncio de outrora ecoava no peito.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mais um grito.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;ela desligou.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;ela não queria desligar...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-4783499015954170101?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/4783499015954170101/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=4783499015954170101' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/4783499015954170101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/4783499015954170101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2010/01/e-depois.html' title='e depois?'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-983668711230533166</id><published>2009-07-30T16:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-12T07:42:20.233-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/S5pgv1mbPOI/AAAAAAAAAMk/GLQCMt0bvRs/s1600-h/vintage-copy2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/S5pgv1mbPOI/AAAAAAAAAMk/GLQCMt0bvRs/s320/vintage-copy2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447773074216402146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;como uma chuva de fogos, foi feito de vidro,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;aquele momento.O andar distraído te trouxe até aqui, tão perto que não dá pra definir antes um hoje, hoje dois. Me dê a sua mão, não se concentre em nada que possa te distrair.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;deixa eu te falar, eu tenho tanto a dizer. É eu sei que eu nunca disse. Mas hoje eu vou falar até o sol raiar no infinito desse céu.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;Agora eu sei quem sou, e sei bem o meu lugar ao seu lado.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-983668711230533166?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/983668711230533166/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=983668711230533166' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/983668711230533166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/983668711230533166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2009/07/como-uma-chuva-de-fogos-foi-feito-de.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/S5pgv1mbPOI/AAAAAAAAAMk/GLQCMt0bvRs/s72-c/vintage-copy2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-621554398032921849</id><published>2009-07-19T18:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-24T09:44:22.510-07:00</updated><title type='text'>páravocê.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;e os &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;heróis&lt;/span&gt; do silêncio quem é que escuta? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;vencendo todo dia, cada um a sua sina.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;traindo a ausência..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;lixo ou luxo.pra tua vida,valeu ou já não vale mais? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;basta, esse pedaço triste do céu,na avenida.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;basta o desencanto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;que me abaste.que me parte.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;sangro os gritos do mundo.do seu mundo,deixado por você&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;ninguém mais do que você . você mesmo. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;você é o culpado pela dor do mundo,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;e não faça de conta que se importar.porque...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;eu também não me importo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;compaixão,parece tão distante,agora.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;você pode tocar o que não vê?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;eu sei que pode.Podemos mudar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;ou podemos nos &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;embreagar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; com o mal do mundo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;do seu mundo.do meu mundo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;há de haver...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-621554398032921849?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/621554398032921849/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=621554398032921849' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/621554398032921849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/621554398032921849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2009/07/paravoce.html' title='páravocê.'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-9016478907639585168</id><published>2009-07-19T12:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-19T13:34:27.265-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>desde então não houve, não se ouve ,sequer uma palavra honesta no mundo .&lt;br /&gt;existe algo fora do lugar ?&lt;br /&gt;sem reação. desenho exclamações e interrogações onde passo.&lt;br /&gt;queria eu poder fazer poesia do fracasso. fazer da dor canção.&lt;br /&gt;quero o sonho mais bonito.&lt;br /&gt;quero traduzir em mim , uma verdade que vale a pena.&lt;br /&gt;que levante e coloque de pé.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O surto do mundo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;há de haver lugar pra mim, esse mundo é tão grande, é tão pequeno.&lt;br /&gt;há de ter resposta pro meu apelo minha prece.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;que me livre, que eu seja livre.&lt;br /&gt;pra viver o incerto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;é questão de tempo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-9016478907639585168?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/9016478907639585168/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=9016478907639585168' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/9016478907639585168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/9016478907639585168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2009/07/desde-entao-nao-houve-nao-se-ouve.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-4750343806959084636</id><published>2009-07-02T13:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-16T13:40:01.609-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Na ra G.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/Sl-QFg0PDxI/AAAAAAAAAKA/EfZcFyclz_w/s1600-h/naraG.+(L).jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359160505976950546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/Sl-QFg0PDxI/AAAAAAAAAKA/EfZcFyclz_w/s320/naraG.+(L).jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;te vejo, de longe e sei que tem tantos sonhos.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;caminhas entre a alma de menina,e o corpo de um adulto que pulsa,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;no ritimo do mundo.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;tu valsa, teu brilho,teus contos de garotas!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;tua verdade!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;sua complexidade, e o que me intriga, é a falta que faz. as mil maneiras de arrancar-me um sorriso,você conhece meus segredos, meu atos, teu fato.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;você sempre sabe o que dizer quando nada tá certo, ou quando o incerto toma conta de mim.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999999;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Loren diz:e no final seremos felizes ?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999999;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Na ra diz:só se tiver valido a pena&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999999;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Loren diz:e quantos de nos vivera sonhos ?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999999;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Na ra diz:só os que quiserem,lorena!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;suas palavras, sua poesia, tatuada em mim.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;ah, nara. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;por mais que essa vida me sopre pra longe,por mais que a vida nos forme diferentes, do que somos hoje! eu levo comigo um certeza. a de que não estou só. tenho você&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;você, que é assim..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;é nara,mas pra mim é irmã. é além de palavras, adjetivos.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;você que é assim..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;é nara, é sorriso , é alegria. é contra capa.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;é sempre , é para todo o meu sempre!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;é anjo. e sim !podes voar.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-4750343806959084636?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/4750343806959084636/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=4750343806959084636' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/4750343806959084636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/4750343806959084636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2009/07/na-ra-g.html' title='Na ra G.'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/Sl-QFg0PDxI/AAAAAAAAAKA/EfZcFyclz_w/s72-c/naraG.+(L).jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-9031026119155429999</id><published>2009-07-02T11:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-02T12:06:05.980-07:00</updated><title type='text'>lispector,faz todo sentido!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/Sk0D-jg5JeI/AAAAAAAAAJA/BZYj5SvNr8M/s1600-h/cl.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353939905233364450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 242px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/Sk0D-jg5JeI/AAAAAAAAAJA/BZYj5SvNr8M/s320/cl.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;'Amanheci em cólera.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Não, não, o mundo não me agrada.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;A maioria das pessoas estão mortas &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;e não sabem,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;ou estão vivas com charlatanismo. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;E o amor, em vez de dar, &lt;strong&gt;exige.&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;E quem gosta de nós quer que sejamos alguma coisa de que eles precisam. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mentir dá remorso. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;E não mentir é um dom que o mundo não merece.'&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-9031026119155429999?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/9031026119155429999/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=9031026119155429999' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/9031026119155429999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/9031026119155429999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2009/07/lispectorfaz-todo-sentido.html' title='lispector,faz todo sentido!'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/Sk0D-jg5JeI/AAAAAAAAAJA/BZYj5SvNr8M/s72-c/cl.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-3746989431781300377</id><published>2009-07-01T17:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-02T13:10:53.619-07:00</updated><title type='text'>M.V</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/Sk0UF2pOf_I/AAAAAAAAAJI/H0fq6cO0k_w/s1600-h/maiorsaudade+e+muito+amoor.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353957622813720562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/Sk0UF2pOf_I/AAAAAAAAAJI/H0fq6cO0k_w/s320/maiorsaudade+e+muito+amoor.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me fala do que é feito teu céu?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Do que é feita toda essa alegria? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Teu certo, teu errado,Meu afeto!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Meu estar é tão certo quando estou com você!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Teu sentido, que deu um novo sentido a amistad.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Obrigada por me ensinar a transformar,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;a dor em riso.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;O grito do meu peito em canção! as que só você para pra ouvir!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;trago partes de você em mim, e as deixo por aí, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;te distribuindo no mundo que é pra ver se ele fica melhor,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;como você é bem melhor,meu abrigo.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tua tempestade de sorrisos,meu porto.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;tuas asas,sua poesia.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Que tirou de mim o chão,me fez letras,acordes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me deu paz.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;me fiz rima,por você&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;e por você,vou estar, vou ser, prosa,verso!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;vou até o fim.pra viver,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;sonhar, voar!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;ah, larissa você é encanto, é rima e sem a sua prosa eu não sou.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-3746989431781300377?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/3746989431781300377/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=3746989431781300377' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3746989431781300377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3746989431781300377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2009/07/mv.html' title='M.V'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/Sk0UF2pOf_I/AAAAAAAAAJI/H0fq6cO0k_w/s72-c/maiorsaudade+e+muito+amoor.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-6257037348820557407</id><published>2009-05-22T10:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-18T10:33:49.529-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/ShbkfnGFaXI/AAAAAAAAAIw/gBMg8bcPpE0/s1600-h/ruas.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338705640015882610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 242px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/ShbkfnGFaXI/AAAAAAAAAIw/gBMg8bcPpE0/s320/ruas.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;'Every time I see you falling I get down on my knees and pray I'm waiting for that final moment You say the words that I can't say.'&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;eu &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;não&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; sou poeta,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;não tenho casa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;não toco,não canto,não danço.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;compro as coisas que passam&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;na TV.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;me excedo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;é difícil não ler o letreiro.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;estou aqui e ali&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;entre as esquinas&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;a queimar os dedos.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;coloco um máscara&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;depois outra,pulo entre as regras,violo jardins.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;sigo em paralela.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;faço o fato e o ato.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-6257037348820557407?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/6257037348820557407/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=6257037348820557407' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/6257037348820557407'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/6257037348820557407'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2009/05/ievery-time-i-see-you-falling-i-get.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/ShbkfnGFaXI/AAAAAAAAAIw/gBMg8bcPpE0/s72-c/ruas.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-5297673529510749575</id><published>2009-04-08T12:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-08T12:25:07.581-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ESQUEÇA</title><content type='html'>canto em amor aos esquecidos&lt;br /&gt;e aos que se esqueceram.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;canto á aqueles que deixaram de amar&lt;br /&gt;e aos que de amor morrem&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;canto aos que tem fome&lt;br /&gt;e aos que esqueceram de comer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;canto as risadas dadas,&lt;br /&gt;e as que dadas,foram.deixadas de dar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;canto,canto aos esquecidos da praça.aos deixados,largados,esquecidos,abandonados.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;canto aos que pelo poder são tomados,e aos que o dinheiro nunca deixam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;canto aos acompanhantes da solidão.&lt;br /&gt;e aos maus acompanhados também&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ah,eu canto á vida e ás vezes canto horrores&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                     &lt;em&gt; láiáláiá&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-5297673529510749575?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/5297673529510749575/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=5297673529510749575' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/5297673529510749575'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/5297673529510749575'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2009/04/esqueca.html' title='ESQUEÇA'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-3969247603614507868</id><published>2009-04-08T11:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-08T11:59:35.093-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SdzzT5CqBZI/AAAAAAAAAIY/A1w-uGlpJRE/s1600-h/escrever.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322396382700111250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SdzzT5CqBZI/AAAAAAAAAIY/A1w-uGlpJRE/s320/escrever.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;se acaso um dia me perguntares,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;o motivo de tanto amor pelas letras&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;lhe direi que escrevo de tanto observar,as pessoas,as vidas,os amores.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;escrevo pois nas palavras mostro minha alma.mostro sonhos,meus ou seus talvez&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Quando escrevo sou um rei,uma dama,ando pelos sonhos alheios,mudo de alma&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Deixo me&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;ir e vir,sem pedir licença!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-3969247603614507868?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/3969247603614507868/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=3969247603614507868' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3969247603614507868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3969247603614507868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2009/04/se-acaso-um-dia-me-perguntares-o-motivo.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SdzzT5CqBZI/AAAAAAAAAIY/A1w-uGlpJRE/s72-c/escrever.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-8858310171289298806</id><published>2009-02-06T13:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-04-06T15:18:53.448-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Li.via</title><content type='html'>seu coração a havia traído novamente.titubiou e ela escorregou.por sorte agora estava longe,longe demais,teve vontade de adentrar ao mar, e se perder por lá.andou uns vinte passos,ao menos dessa vez ela podia contar,a quantas andava.&lt;br /&gt;seus pés tocaram a água,nadou,com força,até onde pode,até não aguentar mais,afundou ali,como se fosse possivel chegar ao fundo do mundo.sentou,já haviam se passado 20 segundos,pensou em tudo que tinha vivido , lembrou-se somente de uma série de fracassos,seu organismo queria subir,mas ela não.mais 6 segundos,se lembrou de uma infancia terna,a água a fazia subir,como se o mar não a quizesse,lutou contra ele,14 segundos,não tinha tanta força,já não sabia se realmente queria ali estar,novamente seu coração a traía,como todos sempre faziam,20 segundos.já não tinha força,o mar a levantou como se ali nao fosse seu lugar,mas já estava em alto mar,e fraca.sentiu pena de si mesma,estava só como sempre esteve,mas ali não queria estar,o mar desistiu de lutar por livia,á agua a levava,onde por vista não se via.pediu por Deus,quando não havia palavras.sentiu seu corpo afundar,não podia mais ver,sentir.&lt;br /&gt;leonardo,por sua vez,cheio de certezas,saiu pra ver o mar,não restiu viu mais de perto,entrou em um velho barco,por nome palomar,andou por esse mar ,até não ter mais certeza de nada,o mar parecia quere-lo por perto sugava-o velozmente e ele ia,sem negar,sentia de ir,via,viu profundo,viu uma menina mulher,parecia viva,em meio a morte,saltou ,tocou-a,trouxe-a pra sí,a vida parcia ter vivido naquele barco.&lt;br /&gt;parecia ter chegado amor alí,de longe nada deles se sabia,mas sentia-se ARES DE MUDANÇA para livia,para leonardo.para quem li.ía&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-8858310171289298806?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/8858310171289298806/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=8858310171289298806' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/8858310171289298806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/8858310171289298806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2009/02/livia.html' title='Li.via'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-1173351991294436387</id><published>2009-01-29T16:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-29T17:09:44.228-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>tire de mim todos os limites,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;que hoje eu vou me formatar,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;para livre ser,mais uma vez.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;não, não me toque.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hoje,vou me perder,de todos,de mim mesma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;não quero o silencio do violino.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;quero o grito .mais alto de todos os seus acordes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;suas notas,farão parte de mim.como outrora.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;quero luz,me transformar em cores,as ninguém nunca viu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;quero não ter destino,não ter tempo,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;esta noite vou tocar,tocar a vida.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;não quero me esconder,quero luz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;quero frio.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;essa noite, o mundo vai me escutar,vai ouvir todas as vozes do meu violino.dizer por quanto eu me calei.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;dizer que mesmo em meio,há tudo,tudo.nada poderá me calar, eu já não me importo,não,não.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;vou ouvir,o som dos que querem paz,dos que nunca deixam de ter fé,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;me fechei para o que não faz bem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;estou fechada,aberta.estou quem sou.quem serei.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;eu quero brilho,quero todo o som do violino.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-1173351991294436387?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/1173351991294436387/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=1173351991294436387' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/1173351991294436387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/1173351991294436387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2009/01/tire-de-mim-todos-os-limites-que-hoje.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-1254272284984544956</id><published>2009-01-28T17:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-29T10:06:40.569-08:00</updated><title type='text'>e seus poucos anos de idade.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SYHv9DykZvI/AAAAAAAAAHA/hq8jUIvsKmc/s1600-h/276380%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296778469032879858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SYHv9DykZvI/AAAAAAAAAHA/hq8jUIvsKmc/s320/276380%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Era um barco grande,e o menino gosta de sonhar,e sonhou que era um rei,e então um rei se fez.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;lutou com seu exercito,venceu tudo e todos.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;pensou então em ser pirata,e assim foi.e foi o maior pirata do mundo,com seu pequeno barco.cheio de tesouros,e com tesouro nenhum,foi aos lugares mais altos e mais pequenos também.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;e assim passou o dia, e aquele dia o mundo era dele,e só dele era,porquer sonhar ele sabia.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;e de tempos,em tempos ele se faz no que quer,faz a vida e a vida o faz cada dia mais lindo.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;lorena alves.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-1254272284984544956?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/1254272284984544956/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=1254272284984544956' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/1254272284984544956'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/1254272284984544956'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2009/01/david-e-seus-poucos-anos-de-idade.html' title='e seus poucos anos de idade.'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SYHv9DykZvI/AAAAAAAAAHA/hq8jUIvsKmc/s72-c/276380%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-3647938272556932653</id><published>2009-01-18T13:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-18T13:27:50.699-08:00</updated><title type='text'>me afirmo,me reviro</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SXOexObqJQI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/ddGMMfx_eA8/s1600-h/20873_katie-holmes-handsome-hair-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292748555615347970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 256px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SXOexObqJQI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/ddGMMfx_eA8/s320/20873_katie-holmes-handsome-hair-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Abre as portas pra mim!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;abre as janelas&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Deixa TODO mundo ver quem eu sou,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;deixa eles se darem conta de que a única coisa que eu NÃO sou, NÃO quero ser! e não posso ser é o óbvio.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;não espere nada de mim&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;eu nunca uso sapatos.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;farei deles uma espécie de refugio,quando tudo me parecer um tédio, e sei que eles farão de mim&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;seu veneno,seu remédio anti-tédio.serei fugaz,mas sem me esconder. essa noite quero mostrar todas as minhas caras,para você não se assustar quando de você eu não lembrar.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;hoje,hoje serei eu para todos&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;hoje trocaria minha fazenda para ver um sorriso de menino.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-3647938272556932653?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/3647938272556932653/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=3647938272556932653' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3647938272556932653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3647938272556932653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2009/01/me-afirmome-reviro.html' title='me afirmo,me reviro'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SXOexObqJQI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/ddGMMfx_eA8/s72-c/20873_katie-holmes-handsome-hair-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-2204574881734317149</id><published>2009-01-18T12:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-18T13:08:31.357-08:00</updated><title type='text'>ABRIR em cores I</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SXOaRDLXmuI/AAAAAAAAAGI/fcvbcYaE8js/s1600-h/praia4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292743604791909090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SXOaRDLXmuI/AAAAAAAAAGI/fcvbcYaE8js/s320/praia4.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Abre o mundo pra mim,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;abre seu sorriso,meu mundo paralelo.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;deixa sua mão tocar a minha&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;antes que a noite venha pra mim.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;deixa eu ser você por um momento,antes que você se vá.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;vamos, ser pra sempre,ou que seja até o fim da noite.Mas,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;que seja você e eu. Até não caber no mundo,meu mundo paralelo.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lorena alves&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-2204574881734317149?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/2204574881734317149/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=2204574881734317149' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/2204574881734317149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/2204574881734317149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2009/01/abrir-em-cores-i.html' title='ABRIR em cores I'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SXOaRDLXmuI/AAAAAAAAAGI/fcvbcYaE8js/s72-c/praia4.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-4299815991689176892</id><published>2009-01-16T12:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T12:33:31.778-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SXDuZkBd1OI/AAAAAAAAAGA/oiS-_RygXPY/s1600-h/grav_mulher_olhando_espelho_e_vultom.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SXDuZkBd1OI/AAAAAAAAAGA/oiS-_RygXPY/s320/grav_mulher_olhando_espelho_e_vultom.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291991685094298850" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a duvida a acertou em cheio,era fácil olhar em seus olhos e perceber que eles estavam rasos,não mostravam,nada além do que ela não era,passou a fazer o que não fazia antes,sem sentir culpa,e se sentia fazia questão de não sentir.ela estava decida a fazer diferente agora,ela já nem sentia mais e preferia assim deixar.mas aquela noite.a janela estava aberta e não sei dizer o motivo mas a janela sempre foi seu forte,sua sala de se estar,não estava sozinha aquele dia,mas era como se estivesse,tudo mudou e não sei mas onde ela se encontra,girou.e sua inconsequência a transformou em um monstro como ela nunca havia visto,mas em segundos se desfez ,se refez! e seus olhos já não eram tão rasos,mas profundos,sim profundos!a duvida havia chegado e parecia da li não querer sair,virou-se para o espelho,ele pode ver,mas ela sabia que ele jamais veria os negros olhos que via antes,e ela sabia que nunca mais veria outros olhos como os dele,outra pessoa havia chegado.e entre tantos olhos se perdeu,se perdeu tudo.e eu prefiro parar aqui,sem contar a quantas anda,esses olhares,monstros e mitos.deixo a assim ficar.logo que nada é permanente,nem mesmo o sol será pra sempre,porque havia de contar-lhes o final,meu caro!de uma historia assim,que vibra a todo momento,que imagino sempre.cada dia de um jeito diferente.então fica assim.cada pra sempre com seu ato,seus desatos,e sem o menor sentido (; .&lt;br /&gt;Lorena alves.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-4299815991689176892?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/4299815991689176892/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=4299815991689176892' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/4299815991689176892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/4299815991689176892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2009/01/duvida-acertou-em-cheioera-fcil-olhar.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SXDuZkBd1OI/AAAAAAAAAGA/oiS-_RygXPY/s72-c/grav_mulher_olhando_espelho_e_vultom.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-3731629262996286551</id><published>2008-12-29T08:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-29T08:09:04.937-08:00</updated><title type='text'>!</title><content type='html'>não fiz &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;questão&lt;/span&gt; de mim, se agora é o fim,vejo que não é tão ruim assim!&lt;br /&gt;agora posso ir,não há medos por onde eu vou,vejo esperança ali, escuto uma poesia dançar,&lt;br /&gt;é um novo ano, é a chance de refazer,&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;é a chance&lt;/span&gt;, de não ser mais o mesmo,é novo&lt;strong&gt;!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-3731629262996286551?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/3731629262996286551/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=3731629262996286551' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3731629262996286551'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3731629262996286551'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/12/blog-post.html' title='!'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-3366128218534240643</id><published>2008-12-10T14:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T15:13:41.962-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Quanto tempo leva um segundo;&lt;br /&gt;quanto tempo leva pra sentir uma gota de chuva,antes de uma longa tempestade;&lt;br /&gt;quanto tempo leva para ouvir um não;&lt;br /&gt;quanto tempo leva pra sair um resultado;&lt;br /&gt;quanto tempo você levou pensando em tudo que devia ter feito ;&lt;br /&gt;quanto tempo leva pra alguém partir;&lt;br /&gt;quanto tempo se tem,e não se nota até que ele seja tirado de você&lt;br /&gt;tudo é tão de pressa que eu já não tenho  pressa,prefiro observar,&lt;br /&gt;fingir que nada me domina e que sou imune ao tempo,vou levando assim&lt;br /&gt;até que o próprio tempo me mostre sua face,sem mascaras,sem medos&lt;br /&gt;espero o tempo...&lt;br /&gt;o tempo em que seremos felizes!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-3366128218534240643?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/3366128218534240643/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=3366128218534240643' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3366128218534240643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3366128218534240643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/12/quanto-tempo-leva-um-segundo-quanto.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-6126234542546863133</id><published>2008-12-08T07:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T07:30:05.208-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/ST09dFqFfVI/AAAAAAAAAFs/hOl0QtUPMn0/s1600-h/MINHA+FORMATURA+010.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/ST09dFqFfVI/AAAAAAAAAFs/hOl0QtUPMn0/s320/MINHA+FORMATURA+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277441908292287826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3 class="smller"&gt;DESENCONTRÁRIOS - PAULO LEMINSKY&lt;/h3&gt; &lt;div class="para"&gt; Mandei a palavra rimar,&lt;br /&gt;ela não me obedeceu.&lt;br /&gt;Falou em mar, em céu, em rosa,&lt;br /&gt;em grego, em silêncio, em prosa.&lt;br /&gt;Parecia fora de si,&lt;br /&gt;a sílaba silenciosa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mandei a frase sonhar,&lt;br /&gt;e ela se foi num labirinto.&lt;br /&gt;Fazer poesia, eu sinto, apenas isso.&lt;br /&gt;Dar ordens a um exército,&lt;br /&gt;para conquistar um império extinto. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-6126234542546863133?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/6126234542546863133/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=6126234542546863133' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/6126234542546863133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/6126234542546863133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/12/desencontrrios-paulo-leminsky-mandei.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/ST09dFqFfVI/AAAAAAAAAFs/hOl0QtUPMn0/s72-c/MINHA+FORMATURA+010.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-3332568920637618226</id><published>2008-12-06T14:34:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-06T14:38:08.999-08:00</updated><title type='text'>viida</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/STr-gNBqakI/AAAAAAAAAFE/-nli1tgb6w4/s1600-h/MINHA+FORMATURA+043.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/STr-gNBqakI/AAAAAAAAAFE/-nli1tgb6w4/s320/MINHA+FORMATURA+043.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276809742623861314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Escolho meus amigos não pela pele ou outro arquétipo qualquer, mas pela pupila.&lt;br /&gt;Tem que ter brilho questionador e tonalidade inquietante.&lt;br /&gt;A mim não interessam os bons de espírito nem os maus de hábitos.&lt;br /&gt;Fico com aqueles que fazem de mim louco e santo.&lt;br /&gt;Deles não quero resposta, quero meu avesso.&lt;br /&gt;Que me tragam dúvidas e angústias e agüentem o que há de pior em mim.&lt;br /&gt;Para isso, só sendo louco.&lt;br /&gt;Quero os santos, para que não duvidem das diferenças e peçam perdão pelas injustiças.&lt;br /&gt;Escolho meus amigos pela alma lavada e pela cara exposta.&lt;br /&gt;Não quero só o ombro e o colo, quero também sua maior alegria.&lt;br /&gt;Amigo que não ri junto, não sabe sofrer junto.&lt;br /&gt;Meus amigos são todos assim: metade bobeira, metade seriedade.&lt;br /&gt;Não quero risos previsíveis, nem choros piedosos.&lt;br /&gt;Quero amigos sérios, daqueles que fazem da realidade sua fonte de aprendizagem, mas lutam para que a fantasia não desapareça.&lt;br /&gt;Não quero amigos adultos nem chatos.&lt;br /&gt;Quero-os metade infância e outra metade velhice!&lt;br /&gt;Crianças, para que não esqueçam o valor do vento no rosto; e velhos, para que nunca tenham pressa.&lt;br /&gt;Tenho amigos para saber quem eu sou.&lt;br /&gt;Pois os vendo loucos e santos, bobos e sérios, crianças e velhos, nunca me esquecerei de que "normalidade" é uma ilusão imbecil e estéril.'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-3332568920637618226?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/3332568920637618226/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=3332568920637618226' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3332568920637618226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3332568920637618226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/12/viida.html' title='viida'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/STr-gNBqakI/AAAAAAAAAFE/-nli1tgb6w4/s72-c/MINHA+FORMATURA+043.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-7019496943714756559</id><published>2008-12-03T16:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-04-06T16:03:15.274-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ela esperou por ele mais uma vez,e mais uma vez ele não veio,ela sabia que podia esperar dele uma desculpa qualquer,ele já não a olhava mas,e sempre que podia a evitava,mas ela continuava ali esperando,como se fosse despertar de um sonho estranho e distante,mas hoje,hoje ela descobriu-se para o mundo,notou que livros são feitos por vários capitulos, ela poderia deixar esse escapar,caminhou pelo gramado então,até a estação de treem,observou tudo.era hora de voltar pra casa,era hora de estar&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-7019496943714756559?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/7019496943714756559/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=7019496943714756559' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/7019496943714756559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/7019496943714756559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/12/ela-esperou-por-ele-mais-uma-veze-mais.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-8513755131230396882</id><published>2008-12-01T12:03:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-01T12:04:06.877-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/STRDH48CC_I/AAAAAAAAAE8/VRupJFNY3pg/s1600-h/lugosi2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/STRDH48CC_I/AAAAAAAAAE8/VRupJFNY3pg/s320/lugosi2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274914866380016626" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fica a vontade diante dos meus fracassos,disse ela.&lt;br /&gt;sem notar,ele já se sentia bem ali.&lt;br /&gt;então ela percebeu de que ela.&lt;br /&gt;deveria estar a vontade diante de seus fracassos.&lt;br /&gt;ela era o fracasso, que já não queria mais ser.&lt;br /&gt;desejou dormir,então.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-8513755131230396882?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/8513755131230396882/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=8513755131230396882' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/8513755131230396882'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/8513755131230396882'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/12/fica-vontade-diante-dos-meus_01.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/STRDH48CC_I/AAAAAAAAAE8/VRupJFNY3pg/s72-c/lugosi2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-8669048036074540678</id><published>2008-12-01T04:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-01T04:46:18.103-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Me cansei dos teus desenganos&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Não entendo a tua fala&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Nossa casa está vazia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Hoje à noite é o meu dia...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Nossa vida virou novela&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;E eu não sou nenhum personagem&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Que se enquadre em teus delírios&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Quero andar nas ruas e sentir frio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;No calor, quero estar sozinho...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Me cansei das tuas mentiras&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Eu não quero esse dia-a-dia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Não consigo fazer promessas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Tenho apenas o que me resta...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;O teu jeito não me abala&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Não me sinto bem no teu jogo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Vou voar mais alto que as nuvens&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Entender de vez esse meu vazio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Te encontrar prá não ser sozinho...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Tudo é sempre a mesma coisa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;O mesmo jeito, toda vez&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Tudo é muito relativo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;E a distância, já nos fez&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Somos serra e litoral&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Nosso final, é simplesTchau!...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Me cansei das tuas mentiras&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Eu não quero esse dia-a-dia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Não consigo fazer promessas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Tenho apenas o que me resta...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;O teu jeito não me abala&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Não me sinto bem no teu jogo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Vou voar mais alto que as nuvens&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Entender de vez esse meu vazio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Te encontrar prá não ser sozinho...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Tudo é sempre a mesma coisa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;O mesmo jeito, toda vez&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Tudo é muito relativo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;E a distância, já nos fez&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Somos serra e litoral&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Nosso final, é simplesTchau!...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Nosso final, é simplesTchau!...'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcccc;"&gt;CATEDRAL-TCHAU&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-8669048036074540678?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/8669048036074540678/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=8669048036074540678' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/8669048036074540678'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/8669048036074540678'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/12/me-cansei-dos-teus-desenganos-no.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-4594169863092271449</id><published>2008-11-21T08:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-21T08:23:23.648-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Adeeeeeeeus!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SSbgb07wNsI/AAAAAAAAAEk/jr3dEhNF3TI/s1600-h/ls+013-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SSbgb07wNsI/AAAAAAAAAEk/jr3dEhNF3TI/s320/ls+013-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271147182554101442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não há mais o que fazer se o fim chegou para nós&lt;br /&gt;ninguém poderia prever,parecíamos tão felizes,mas nem sempre tudo é o que parece ser.&lt;br /&gt;a verdade é que só nós sabíamos o que passava por dentro;ninguém mais podia ouvir o que nosso silêncio dizia.&lt;br /&gt;não havia quem visse que a janela estava fechada e não havia mais sorrisos .&lt;br /&gt;foi assim chegando o nosso adeus...&lt;br /&gt;sem pronuncias,sem gestos,sem mágoas,apenas sincero e eterno.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-4594169863092271449?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/4594169863092271449/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=4594169863092271449' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/4594169863092271449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/4594169863092271449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/11/adeeeeeeeus.html' title='Adeeeeeeeus!'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SSbgb07wNsI/AAAAAAAAAEk/jr3dEhNF3TI/s72-c/ls+013-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-1238365389676094306</id><published>2008-11-21T08:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-21T08:14:48.610-08:00</updated><title type='text'>veja.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SSbeKJvoidI/AAAAAAAAAEc/qwynihA7NlY/s1600-h/qrtrt.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 160px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SSbeKJvoidI/AAAAAAAAAEc/qwynihA7NlY/s320/qrtrt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271144679879510482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O papel estava em branco,&lt;br /&gt;não havia palavras que expressassem aquilo que não se expressa,que apenas sente.&lt;br /&gt;Mesmo que longe;mesmo que inconstante,&lt;br /&gt;não havia caneta que ao atritar com o papel conseguisse marcá-lo&lt;br /&gt;Mas havia um olhar,um par de olhos serenos e negros que podiam ler,tudo que não estava escrito naquele papel&lt;br /&gt;eram únicos,especiais pois viam poesia,viam amor!&lt;br /&gt;estes olhos sempre levarei comigo.&lt;br /&gt;Lorena Alves&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-1238365389676094306?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/1238365389676094306/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=1238365389676094306' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/1238365389676094306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/1238365389676094306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/11/o-papel-estava-em-branco-no-havia.html' title='veja.'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SSbeKJvoidI/AAAAAAAAAEc/qwynihA7NlY/s72-c/qrtrt.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-661705056709751997</id><published>2008-11-19T12:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T12:54:45.118-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>T&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;udo que é exag&lt;/span&gt;erado&lt;br /&gt;acaba no &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;superficial&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;até mesmo um sorriso &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sob&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;r&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;etudo u&lt;/span&gt;m&lt;/span&gt; abraço&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-661705056709751997?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/661705056709751997/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=661705056709751997' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/661705056709751997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/661705056709751997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/11/t-udo-que-exag-erado-acaba-no.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-5568923392619158009</id><published>2008-11-19T08:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T08:06:04.797-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Daqui a algum tempo eu sei,você vai perceber&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;que fomos feitos pra voar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;nada pode nos impedir de chegar aos céus&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;eu sei você vai acabar percebendo que no fundo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;eu estive aqui esperando pr você o tempo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;todo,você vai reparar que guardei as minhas asas,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;até que as suas estivessem prontas para ir&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;ao infinito.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;e quando isso acontecer ...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;seremos o tudo e o nada, serei euevocê&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;sem o menor limite pra voar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lorena Alves .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-5568923392619158009?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/5568923392619158009/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=5568923392619158009' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/5568923392619158009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/5568923392619158009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/11/daqui-algum-tempo-eu-seivoc-vai.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-8875173653899909792</id><published>2008-11-10T17:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T17:10:18.941-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SRjbdAS1L1I/AAAAAAAAADw/7_6XZNzaXiU/s1600-h/joao+pessoa.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SRjbdAS1L1I/AAAAAAAAADw/7_6XZNzaXiU/s320/joao+pessoa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267201055551467346" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;'Out there is &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:100%;" &gt;something &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;better&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt; and &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:180%;" &gt;it's worth fighting for&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-8875173653899909792?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/8875173653899909792/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=8875173653899909792' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/8875173653899909792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/8875173653899909792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/11/out-there-is-something-better-and-its.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SRjbdAS1L1I/AAAAAAAAADw/7_6XZNzaXiU/s72-c/joao+pessoa.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-938749834577699701</id><published>2008-11-10T16:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T16:27:05.783-08:00</updated><title type='text'>(:!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;desde que você se foi &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;não durmo mais;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ás noites parecem longas e frias&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;os dias são como neblina.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quando você estava aqui,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;meus poemas eram completos&lt;br /&gt;tudo fazia sentido e tudo era tão certo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;Eu sei cada gesto que você faria se estivesse por aqui&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;eu saberia cada reação sua,a cada palavra minha&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ainda sinto sua mão passar sobre meus ombros&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;nosso olhar perdido,que de vez em quando se encontrava&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;como rios que se cruzam e desabam em um impetuoso mar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;Mas em segundos se dissipavam de mim&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;e iam as estrelas levando os meus com eles&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;revelando-me cada mistério,cada sutileza de um olhar&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu sinto sua falta&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu sinto falta do seu sorriso,seu toque&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sinto falta de te ouvir&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e tudo que eu queria é saber em que parte da vida&lt;br /&gt;nós nos perdemos.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Lorena Alves&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-938749834577699701?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/938749834577699701/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=938749834577699701' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/938749834577699701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/938749834577699701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/11/blog-post.html' title='(:!'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-186330620684812889</id><published>2008-11-07T16:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-07T16:25:47.941-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;h4 style="font-family: lucida grande; font-weight: normal; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);" class="fr0"&gt;'Sumi porque só faço besteira em sua presença, fico mudo&lt;br /&gt;quando deveria verbalizar, digo um absurdo atrás do outro quando&lt;br /&gt;melhor seria silenciar, faço brincadeiras de mau gosto e sofro&lt;br /&gt;antes, durante e depois de te encontrar.&lt;br /&gt;Sumi porque não há futuro e isso não é o mais difícil de&lt;br /&gt;lidar, pior é não ter presente e o passado ser mais fluido que o ar.&lt;br /&gt;Sumi porque não há o que se possa resgatar, meu sumiço é&lt;br /&gt;covarde mas atento, meio fajuto meio autêntico, sumi porque&lt;br /&gt;sumir é um jogo de paciência, ausentar-se é risco e sapiência,&lt;br /&gt;pareço desinteressado, mas&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);"&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"&gt;sumi para estar para sempre do seu&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"&gt; lado&lt;/span&gt;, a saudade fará mais por nós dois que nosso amor e sua&lt;br /&gt;desajeitada e irrefletida permanência.'martha medeiros.&lt;/h4&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;com amor,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;cartas antigas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="aut"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.pensador.info/autor/Martha_Medeiros/" class="autor" style="font-size: 1em;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-186330620684812889?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/186330620684812889/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=186330620684812889' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/186330620684812889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/186330620684812889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/11/sumi-porque-s-fao-besteira-em-sua.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-2429711674038886450</id><published>2008-11-05T14:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-05T14:47:47.634-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>e que não seja &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;tarde&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                        pra quem &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;gosta&lt;/span&gt; de &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"&gt;sonhar&lt;/span&gt; !&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-2429711674038886450?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/2429711674038886450/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=2429711674038886450' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/2429711674038886450'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/2429711674038886450'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/11/e-que-no-seja-tarde-pra-quem-gosta-de.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-3016485196202070898</id><published>2008-10-28T13:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T13:46:25.256-07:00</updated><title type='text'>pedaços  ;</title><content type='html'>esteja aqui comigo até o anoitecer,&lt;br /&gt;mesmo que lhe digam que eu não sou assim com querem que eu seja.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;esteja na hora do café,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;esteja por estar, a tarde inteira&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;esteja aqui na hora do jantar de segunda-feira,mas não os escute,não me escute&lt;br /&gt;só ouça o som do nosso silencio.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e se você puder ouvi-lo estarei aqui para todo o meu sempre!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;com amor,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;Lorena Alves&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-3016485196202070898?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/3016485196202070898/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=3016485196202070898' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3016485196202070898'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3016485196202070898'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/10/pedaos.html' title='pedaços  ;'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-2736616940788099086</id><published>2008-10-20T08:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T13:47:17.381-07:00</updated><title type='text'>euouvocê</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SPyln46gOgI/AAAAAAAAADI/r5_S_RGrGMI/s1600-h/lou+022.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259260569573145090" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SPyln46gOgI/AAAAAAAAADI/r5_S_RGrGMI/s320/lou+022.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;me deixa ser quem eu sou&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;deixa minha falta de graça&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;minha insanidade copiosa&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;meu gosto por livros,e pelo novo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;meu jeito de andar com meu caderno velho,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;cabelo desgrenhado e cara de sono&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;deixa me por aí um instante&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;deixa eu ser diferente de você&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;pois é assim que eu quero ser&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;não vejo graça no comum.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;não quero ser nada,aliás não quero ser ninguém.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;quero descobrir o que há em mim,o que há em você.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;deixa então eu ser um pouco você&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;como lua as vezes é o sol&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;deixe o que eu quiser &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;só não me deixe querer ir...por aí.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;com amor,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"&gt;Lorena Alves.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-2736616940788099086?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/2736616940788099086/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=2736616940788099086' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/2736616940788099086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/2736616940788099086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/10/euouvoc.html' title='euouvocê'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SPyln46gOgI/AAAAAAAAADI/r5_S_RGrGMI/s72-c/lou+022.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-7271701707233827364</id><published>2008-10-14T09:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T09:53:28.931-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SPTOhAB7_PI/AAAAAAAAADA/AIYEu5W6438/s1600-h/ATgAAABxcuIn-lME7iFerpfmNfXmCf8xOkZjwObHkgEI2roK6bp0AElxPc3b3UoWI-g6-ssgN2lI3RHG6lhry3qbzdZYAJtU9VCAC-Hx5JdeN2h56V1ps59tmNwC5w.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257053731387342066" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SPTOhAB7_PI/AAAAAAAAADA/AIYEu5W6438/s320/ATgAAABxcuIn-lME7iFerpfmNfXmCf8xOkZjwObHkgEI2roK6bp0AElxPc3b3UoWI-g6-ssgN2lI3RHG6lhry3qbzdZYAJtU9VCAC-Hx5JdeN2h56V1ps59tmNwC5w.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SPTN-ZQhh0I/AAAAAAAAAC4/viQKZva13Pk/s1600-h/cam.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#c0c0c0;"&gt;O dia mente a cor da noite E o diamante a cor dos olhos&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;Os olhos mentem dia e noite a dor da gente&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#c0c0c0;"&gt;"Enquanto houver você do outro lado Aqui do outro eu consigo me orientar A cena repete a cena se inverte Enchendo a minh'alma d'aquilo que outrora eu deixei de acreditar Tua palavra, tua história Tua verdade fazendo escola&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;E tua ausência fazendo silêncio em todo lugar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#c0c0c0;"&gt; Metade de mim Agora é assim De um lado a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt; poesia, o verbo, a saudade&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#c0c0c0;"&gt;Do outro a luta, a força e a coragem pra chegar no fim E o fim é &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;belo incerto&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#c0c0c0;"&gt;... depende de como você vê O novo, o credo, a fé que você deposita em você e só Só enquanto eu respirar Vou me lembrar de você Só enquanto eu respirar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#c0c0c0;"&gt;O teatro mágico.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-7271701707233827364?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/7271701707233827364/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=7271701707233827364' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/7271701707233827364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/7271701707233827364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/10/o-dia-mente-cor-da-noite-e-o-diamante.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SPTOhAB7_PI/AAAAAAAAADA/AIYEu5W6438/s72-c/ATgAAABxcuIn-lME7iFerpfmNfXmCf8xOkZjwObHkgEI2roK6bp0AElxPc3b3UoWI-g6-ssgN2lI3RHG6lhry3qbzdZYAJtU9VCAC-Hx5JdeN2h56V1ps59tmNwC5w.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-5618286099668923163</id><published>2008-10-13T15:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T13:48:11.531-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;meu caderno laranja&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;meu consolo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;minhas linhas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;meeu abrigo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;guardião dos saberes estimados&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;do desejo de encontrar-se&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;em meio a tinta ou ao papel,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;meu brilho nos olhos &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;meu poema sem rima&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;minha boemia controlada&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;minha sensatez insensata&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;meu caderno laranja &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;com amor,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-style: italic;"&gt;Lorena Alves&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-5618286099668923163?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/5618286099668923163/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=5618286099668923163' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/5618286099668923163'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/5618286099668923163'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/10/meu-caderno-laranja-meu-consolo-minhas.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-3459333054311556969</id><published>2008-10-13T09:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-13T09:44:46.965-07:00</updated><title type='text'>cabelos ,</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;colou a mão a dela&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;fazia frio,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;era Setembro&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;estava o escuro,a escurecer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;e com a outra mão tocou o cabelo,escorregou por entre os fios.cuidadosamente penteados&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;o sorriso penetrou lhe a alma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;os olhares misturaram-se a rua,com seus mitos e seus mistérios ,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;e o vento cantava sua música,movendo todo o céu a seu ritimo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;até,a chegada hora do adeus ténue silencioso e para sempre&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999999;"&gt;Lorena Alves&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-3459333054311556969?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/3459333054311556969/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=3459333054311556969' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3459333054311556969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/3459333054311556969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/10/cabelos.html' title='cabelos ,'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-1898157175157865360</id><published>2008-10-08T10:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T10:50:38.268-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SOzyxHa18XI/AAAAAAAAACw/Gnyx-voaqLA/s1600-h/ATgAAADFn3UZq26-IFqm5AEaRr0PgXhbQ7Ba64L0b5PxcxwT_rhL8lofGSeKV9gd89-DNBdB2Sh7QGuQBY1WfXCWPw7bAJtU9VBAxUAdyQjTUmdYzgjmmxiYsuhc9g.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254841790853673330" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SOzyxHa18XI/AAAAAAAAACw/Gnyx-voaqLA/s320/ATgAAADFn3UZq26-IFqm5AEaRr0PgXhbQ7Ba64L0b5PxcxwT_rhL8lofGSeKV9gd89-DNBdB2Sh7QGuQBY1WfXCWPw7bAJtU9VBAxUAdyQjTUmdYzgjmmxiYsuhc9g.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;Muita coisa mudou desde que vocês se foram&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;eu descobri que o mundo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;é um grande teatro,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;onde poucos são verdade.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;nada é certo e tudo me parece tão distante,agora.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;já não me importo se a cena é estática.e nem noto o papel que desempenho.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;O que eu era,já não sou.me tornei mutável,para não ver o real.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;e quando vocês voltam? para que eu pare de gritar,sem ninguém ouvir!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;quantos de nos diria que suportaríamos viver distantes,quantos de nos vivem sonhos?,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;hoje vi aquela foto velha,a praia o mar,o luar.o sentir de que éramos pra sempre.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;de que iríamos mudar o mundo, mas o mundo nos mudou,agora sempre e tanto&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;já não faz sentido pra nenhum de nós.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;apaguem as luzes e deixem a saudade fazer seu número.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#999999;"&gt;Lorena Alves.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-1898157175157865360?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/1898157175157865360/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=1898157175157865360' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/1898157175157865360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/1898157175157865360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/10/muita-coisa-mudou-desde-que-vocs-se.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SOzyxHa18XI/AAAAAAAAACw/Gnyx-voaqLA/s72-c/ATgAAADFn3UZq26-IFqm5AEaRr0PgXhbQ7Ba64L0b5PxcxwT_rhL8lofGSeKV9gd89-DNBdB2Sh7QGuQBY1WfXCWPw7bAJtU9VBAxUAdyQjTUmdYzgjmmxiYsuhc9g.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-6306287510405471175</id><published>2008-10-04T09:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-04T09:39:31.638-07:00</updated><title type='text'>conto,</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#9999ff;"&gt;Certo dia uma menina de longos cabelos negros,pele morena,bochechas levemente rosadas andava em uma rua curta e esburacada,sem contar,sem perceber,sem ao menos notar pra onde ia,só ouvia seu coração,seus medos,suas incertezas,sua desfaçatez que a tornava única e especial.Mas sempre passou tão quieta e fina,que jamais tocou a vida,mas nessa dia,nessa rua,a vida a tocaria sutilmente.De longe a menina viu uma casa estranha,diferente,um tanto quanto antiga,moderna.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#9999ff;"&gt;enquanto ela olhava,ouviu-se uma valsa lá bem longe,então a menina adentrou a casa,olhou tudo e viu nada,mas teve certeza de que deveria estar ali,tocou a parede a seu lado,recostou sua cabeça ali,e paro por alguns minutos,olhou de novo e viu uma escada,teve vontade de subir,e assim o fez.subiu,subiu uma longa escadaria ate alcançar o inalcançavél, e ela esteve ali como nunca se esteve antes &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#9999ff;"&gt;ela era capaz de ouvir,sentir ao ponto de se misturar a música,ora a nossa menina era um LÁ, outrora o acorde era a menina que valsava a vida,que ria sem ver ,que via sem olhar &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#9999ff;"&gt;Ah, o LÁ sentia, e quem via não podia decifrar quem era menina,quem era a melodia,pois onde a menina estava havia sonoridade e vice e versa e verso e prosa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#9999ff;"&gt;O coração da menina de longos cabelos negros foi tocado e não havia medos e incertezas,havia alegria que trazia alegria&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#9999ff;"&gt;Uma música,uma vida&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#9999ff;"&gt;Um acorde,uma menina&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#9999ff;"&gt;uma canção,uma pequena que traz em SI o amor&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#9999ff;"&gt;ah,menina há em você mais do que se pode ver.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#c0c0c0;"&gt;Lorena Alves, dedico este a uma amiga, que entrou em um conto e me transformou em um poema de seis letras (: (L)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-6306287510405471175?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/6306287510405471175/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=6306287510405471175' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/6306287510405471175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/6306287510405471175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/10/conto.html' title='conto,'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-8998615268605678892</id><published>2008-10-03T09:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-03T10:01:24.737-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;desde de que esteja bem,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;longe ou perto&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;estranho a estranhar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;  deixa lá&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;para que seja verdade&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;transformou-se no ontem &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;de tanto hoje,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;para que só e somente só&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;esteja em equilíbrio &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;com a minha ausência&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;minha falta de você&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;meu momento,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;desmontado&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;estranho sentir tamanha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;saudade,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;tanta falta,silêncio.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;SAUDADE&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#999999;"&gt;Lorena Alves (:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-8998615268605678892?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/8998615268605678892/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=8998615268605678892' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/8998615268605678892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/8998615268605678892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/10/desde-de-que-esteja-bem-longe-ou-perto.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-703459378441770695</id><published>2008-10-02T15:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T16:01:53.256-07:00</updated><title type='text'>cartas,</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SOVSsj4ZEdI/AAAAAAAAACo/zcyCPYNDknw/s1600-h/l+053.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252695465897038290" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SOVSsj4ZEdI/AAAAAAAAACo/zcyCPYNDknw/s320/l+053.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;Escrevi mas não mandei&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#cc33cc;"&gt;li mas não contei :X&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#993399;"&gt;coisas de agora,de antes,de depois&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#993399;"&gt;            coisas minhas,suas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#330000;"&gt;pura arte,pura mania&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330099;"&gt;                                                                                                          meio eu , meio poesia &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#330099;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#330099;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#999999;"&gt;Lorena Alves&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#330099;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-703459378441770695?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/703459378441770695/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=703459378441770695' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/703459378441770695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/703459378441770695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/10/cartas.html' title='cartas,'/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SOVSsj4ZEdI/AAAAAAAAACo/zcyCPYNDknw/s72-c/l+053.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4156640851842144039.post-6333578107880494869</id><published>2008-09-30T08:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-30T08:22:14.531-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SOJEFSNhEhI/AAAAAAAAABs/DAN_3ReDBoQ/s1600-h/vinicius01.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251834973045985810" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SOJEFSNhEhI/AAAAAAAAABs/DAN_3ReDBoQ/s320/vinicius01.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#c0c0c0;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcccc;"&gt;'Como dizia o poeta&lt;/span&gt; Quem já passou por essa vida e não viveu Pode ser mais, mas sabe menos do que eu Porque a vida só se dá pra quem se deu Pra quem amou, pra quem chorou, pra quem sofreu Ah, quem nunca curtiu uma paixão nunca vai ter nada, &lt;span style="color:#ffcccc;"&gt;não Não há mal pior do que a descrença&lt;/span&gt; Mesmo o amor que não compensa é melhor que a solidão Abre os teus braços, meu irmão, deixa cair Pra que somar se a gente pode dividir Eu francamente já não quero nem saber De quem não vai porque tem medo de sofrer Ai de quem não rasga o coração, esse não vai ter perdão Quem nunca curtiu uma paixão, nunca vai ter nada, não'&lt;strong&gt; vinícius de moraes &lt;span style="color:#ffcccc;"&gt;(L)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4156640851842144039-6333578107880494869?l=cartasantigas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/feeds/6333578107880494869/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4156640851842144039&amp;postID=6333578107880494869' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/6333578107880494869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4156640851842144039/posts/default/6333578107880494869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasantigas.blogspot.com/2008/09/como-dizia-o-poeta-quem-j-passou-por.html' title=''/><author><name>Lorena Alves.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18095721708047902972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B9yWlUPhj84/TrCRl--UWvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/25mJNiCN8V0/s220/3481092a78b54898a631456e6131a643_7.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7V8v3_Z4_bQ/SOJEFSNhEhI/AAAAAAAAABs/DAN_3ReDBoQ/s72-c/vinicius01.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
