<?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-3661369050794886805</id><updated>2011-10-16T17:21:46.279+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Aguarela</title><subtitle type='html'>"The evening trees moan as if they knew, at night I always dream of you." Opeth- Black rose immortal</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>56</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-3604314514780694074</id><published>2011-07-20T00:15:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2011-07-20T00:15:23.619+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Tenho o coração preso numa haste.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-3604314514780694074?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/3604314514780694074/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=3604314514780694074' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/3604314514780694074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/3604314514780694074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2011/07/tenho-o-coracao-preso-numa-haste.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16593780466118167396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_6ayirYCPGk/TcB-Zhk8nYI/AAAAAAAAAGg/MPmSU6d7lGY/s220/bitch.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-8586581193104774812</id><published>2011-05-26T20:52:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2011-05-26T20:52:47.890+01:00</updated><title type='text'>A cascata da ninfa</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Nesta linha de vidro eu sou a louca,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;cravada de pérolas roubadas às fêmeas banais,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;como sou a sublime, soberba deusa das artes da alcova&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;que nudista sou eu, entre vontades, sonhos e verbos carnais.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Dispo-me de conceitos morais e limpos de vergonha&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;enquanto despejo em mim saliva e tacto, prazer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Que desejos proibidos se espalham na louca que sensualiza&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;a fusão das peles rasgadas a arder.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;A sedução da boca e dos dedos que me tocam à noite&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;despertam o húmido ventre que anseia pela rocha penetrante.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Alojam-se na minha demência erótica e brutal,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;qual besta porca, cheirosa, repugnante.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Gritar, gritar orgasmicamente, cerrar as mãos,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;curvar o tronco com os seios a palpitar, de rijos que estão,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;pedem mordedura de animal teso e apaixonado,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;homem de envergadura feroz e corpo mais que suado.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Abraço de prata oxidada pela humidade dos órgãos,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;eu sou a louca que recebe a explosão viril e entrega o céu.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Não falo em véus, não menciono pruridos nojentos,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;mas emano o solene aroma a fogo, apenas meu.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-8586581193104774812?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/8586581193104774812/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=8586581193104774812' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8586581193104774812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8586581193104774812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2011/05/cascata-da-ninfa.html' title='A cascata da ninfa'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16593780466118167396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_6ayirYCPGk/TcB-Zhk8nYI/AAAAAAAAAGg/MPmSU6d7lGY/s220/bitch.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-1710675979068252245</id><published>2011-05-21T14:45:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-05-21T14:45:54.203+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Os resquícios do amor feito embalam as cores que ferem o meu ventre.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-1710675979068252245?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/1710675979068252245/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=1710675979068252245' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1710675979068252245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1710675979068252245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2011/05/os-resquicios-do-amor-feito-embalam-as.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16593780466118167396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_6ayirYCPGk/TcB-Zhk8nYI/AAAAAAAAAGg/MPmSU6d7lGY/s220/bitch.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-1466264698064184175</id><published>2011-05-21T14:41:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2011-05-21T14:41:44.995+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Vácuo</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;O nó que trago cá dentro, emaranhado na garganta, prende-me as mãos e os pés, impede-me de crescer. O nó que trago cá dentro solta os lobos que escondo secretamente nos olhos, e atiça-os.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Eu percorro o trilho da floresta como se não caminhasse, e vejo as árvores a passar por mim, e vejo os pássaros a passar por mim, e vejo as pedras a passar por mim, e vejo o Sol a passar por mim, e vejo a noite a passar por mim, e vejo a terra a passar em mim. E eu fico de pé, imóvel, a olhar, a ver. Mas não sinto.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Não tenho trevas nem luz, nem espaço nem tempo. Não sei o que tenho, apenas sei o que não tenho, e nem uma subtracção me indica o resto. Talvez seja porque não há resto.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Se houvessem 'ses', suporia, presumiria o que sou, visto que não sou quem. Há uma crise que arde cá dentro, afoga, asfixia. Estou enjoada.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Não passo por ninguém.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-1466264698064184175?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/1466264698064184175/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=1466264698064184175' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1466264698064184175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1466264698064184175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2011/05/vacuo.html' title='Vácuo'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16593780466118167396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_6ayirYCPGk/TcB-Zhk8nYI/AAAAAAAAAGg/MPmSU6d7lGY/s220/bitch.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-947711307987167874</id><published>2011-02-06T18:55:00.000Z</published><updated>2011-02-06T18:55:54.033Z</updated><title type='text'>Solstício</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;A imortalidade do meu desejo despido&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;é a incandescência suave da Lua adorada,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;a mão invisível de uma humanidade rasgada&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;pelo coração pobre do homem ferido.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;E eu quero revolucionar este dia perdido,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;espalhar a liberdade, por mim tão desejada,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;que o amor é divindade sagrada,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;se for feito como é sentido.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Se o tesouro que guardo for de algodão,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;o sentimento mais puro será de cetim&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;e o Universo estará mais próximo da perfeição.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;E se a força da mudança nascer, enfim,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;serei eu a esperança do Sol, mas então&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;diz-me, por que é que eu não sou para mim.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;6 de Fevereiro de 2011&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-947711307987167874?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/947711307987167874/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=947711307987167874' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/947711307987167874'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/947711307987167874'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2011/02/solsticio.html' title='Solstício'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16593780466118167396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_6ayirYCPGk/TcB-Zhk8nYI/AAAAAAAAAGg/MPmSU6d7lGY/s220/bitch.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-3848500668088914204</id><published>2011-01-29T23:36:00.000Z</published><updated>2011-01-29T23:36:05.752Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Se um dia souberes o que eu sinto.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-3848500668088914204?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/3848500668088914204/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=3848500668088914204' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/3848500668088914204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/3848500668088914204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2011/01/se-um-dia-souberes-o-que-eu-sinto.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16593780466118167396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_6ayirYCPGk/TcB-Zhk8nYI/AAAAAAAAAGg/MPmSU6d7lGY/s220/bitch.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-1118150060620451898</id><published>2010-12-24T17:27:00.003Z</published><updated>2010-12-25T20:30:09.266Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Já tudo passou.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Já foi há tanto tempo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Já nem devia existir.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Já nem o mundo se lembra.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Então por que é que te sentes triste, meu coração?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-1118150060620451898?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/1118150060620451898/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=1118150060620451898' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1118150060620451898'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1118150060620451898'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/12/ja-tudo-passou.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16593780466118167396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_6ayirYCPGk/TcB-Zhk8nYI/AAAAAAAAAGg/MPmSU6d7lGY/s220/bitch.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-58765252997751517</id><published>2010-12-07T19:32:00.002Z</published><updated>2010-12-07T19:32:48.594Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Today I cried because of you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-58765252997751517?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/58765252997751517/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=58765252997751517' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/58765252997751517'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/58765252997751517'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/12/today-i-cried-because-of-you.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16593780466118167396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_6ayirYCPGk/TcB-Zhk8nYI/AAAAAAAAAGg/MPmSU6d7lGY/s220/bitch.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-6579709211892402239</id><published>2010-12-07T16:26:00.000Z</published><updated>2010-12-07T16:26:11.837Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Cada vez que vejo o teu rosto numa fotografia digital, sinto que te posso arrancar desse mundo virtual e dar-te o beijo que sempre quis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O beijo que um dia te dei.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-6579709211892402239?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/6579709211892402239/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=6579709211892402239' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/6579709211892402239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/6579709211892402239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/12/cada-vez-que-vejo-o-teu-rosto-numa.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16593780466118167396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_6ayirYCPGk/TcB-Zhk8nYI/AAAAAAAAAGg/MPmSU6d7lGY/s220/bitch.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-8436197152674867803</id><published>2010-12-04T22:15:00.002Z</published><updated>2010-12-04T22:44:26.608Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;O meu amor pela humanidade nasceu, não pela necessidade de dar, mas sim pela necessidade de dar-me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;É neste meu pensamento que está o cerne de todo o meu ser e de toda a minha perspectiva. De nada me serve oferecer ao mundo o que ao mundo pertence, em nada o enriqueceria. A minha missão passa então por oferecer-lhe a minha evolução, os meus ensinamentos, os meus pensamentos, a minha ajuda interior. É nele que vejo o meu objectivo, o sentido da minha vida.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sinto que nasci para os outros, não para mim. A minha alma é tão grande e tão cheia que compreendo tudo quanto me dizem, que tenho a resposta para todas as amarguras dos seres terrestres, tão afastados de si próprios. Não existe em mim o julgamento, pois o respeito que tenho pela Natureza é tal que deixo que seja ela a encarregar-se da consciência e das lições que cada indivíduo deverá apreender.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Limito-me a ensinar a viver, a sentir a vida, e num sentido prioritário, a percepcionar a existência.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&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/3661369050794886805-8436197152674867803?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/8436197152674867803/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=8436197152674867803' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8436197152674867803'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8436197152674867803'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/12/o-meu-amor-pela-humanidade-nasceu-nao.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-4957818093953484773</id><published>2010-11-16T20:56:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-11-16T20:59:19.688Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;São velhos panos de linho que cobrem o meu rosto. Feroz manto que envolve a pele crucificada.&lt;br /&gt;E a dor de viver se balança no corredor, que cada vez parece estar mais além.&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/3661369050794886805-4957818093953484773?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/4957818093953484773/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=4957818093953484773' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/4957818093953484773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/4957818093953484773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/11/sao-velhos-panos-de-linho-que-cobrem-o.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-4483001165644074290</id><published>2010-11-06T19:08:00.002Z</published><updated>2010-11-06T19:10:53.602Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;"Lascia ch'io pianga mia cruda sorte."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Hendel, in Rinaldo&lt;/span&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/3661369050794886805-4483001165644074290?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/4483001165644074290/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=4483001165644074290' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/4483001165644074290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/4483001165644074290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/11/lascia-chio-pianga-mia-cruda-sorte.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-7517589800395697749</id><published>2010-10-24T16:07:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-10-24T16:09:22.301+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"Multipliquei-me para me sentir,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;para me sentir, precisei sentir tudo."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:78%;" &gt;Álvaro de Campos&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/3661369050794886805-7517589800395697749?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/7517589800395697749/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=7517589800395697749' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/7517589800395697749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/7517589800395697749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/10/multipliquei-me-para-me-sentir-para-me.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-2135892807097767212</id><published>2010-10-06T22:02:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-10-06T22:16:47.318+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Tenho saudades tuas. Tenho tantas saudades tuas.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Mas amo-te mais do que o que o que me escasseias.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Amo-te mais do que o que te arrependo.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;E se te amo assim, acima da saudade, é porque me és o ser mais valioso do Universo, é porque ainda assim é menos doloroso amar-te do que esquecer que te amo.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Eu amo-te, e não sei dizer que te amo. Amo-te, eu amo-te tanto que mesmo caindo no abismo do teu esquecimento, eu continuo a gritar por ti, esperando ser escutada pelo teu interior que teimas em esconder de ti mesmo, eu continuo a ter coragem para te amar.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;E mais nada precisa ser dito.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-2135892807097767212?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/2135892807097767212/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=2135892807097767212' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/2135892807097767212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/2135892807097767212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/10/tenho-saudades-tuas.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-5266746016863711371</id><published>2010-09-25T17:58:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-09-25T17:59:57.173+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Pudesse o teu silêncio dizer-me onde estás...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-5266746016863711371?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/5266746016863711371/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=5266746016863711371' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/5266746016863711371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/5266746016863711371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/09/pudesse-o-teu-silencio-dizer-me-onde.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-7439797647479150608</id><published>2010-09-05T20:56:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-09-05T21:34:13.142+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Pensamentos sem ligação</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Como são perfumados os crimes da minha voz. São pétalas de flores silvestres, campestres, de origens vastas, impossíveis de contar. São colinas verdes, de recorte original, como fiordes vindos das profundezas dos rios. São nus de curvas perfeitas, de carnudos sonhos e desejos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Os meus delitos são pensamentos rendados, provenientes das alcovas reais dos castelos anciãos. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Que ventre é esse que possui a semente dos Deuses?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;As palavras que se emanam das minhas cordas vocais, controladas pelos movimentos da minha boca, são verdades que se apuram, que se aglutinam, tendo em vista a evolução das humanidades. São o açúcar do doce que é a matéria universal, são a carne que sai da pele arrancada pelas mágoas terrestres.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Que tédio, os dias do planeta, sem mentes rasgadas de curiosidades, que tédio, as horas gastas no vazio que preenche o organismo, que tédio, a fome que a alma passa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Sempre o mesmo dilema, nunca a solução que se procura. O afundamento das letras são a perdição do acabamento deste grito em vácuo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&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/3661369050794886805-7439797647479150608?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/7439797647479150608/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=7439797647479150608' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/7439797647479150608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/7439797647479150608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/09/pensamentos-sem-ligacao.html' title='Pensamentos sem ligação'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-5944525559407703430</id><published>2010-09-05T20:20:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-09-05T20:55:10.653+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Silêncio</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Uma fenda rompeu debaixo dos meus pés, e eu caí. Caí no abismo do horizonte, num amontoado duro e feio, de feições graves, más. A paragem estabelecida pela minha veloz queda pintava-se em tons de terra e de rocha, e desenhava-se em linhas irregulares, a lápis negro, de artista amargurado. Era um deserto, um vazio de verdes, de vida, preenchido por poeiras provocantes que tentavam tapar-me os olhos feridos. Nem o céu salvava a paisagem oca com que eu me deparava, era cinzento, apagado de luz e nem vestígios retinha de nuvens.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Não era um lugar horripilante, nem despertava o susto, era simplesmente seco, simplesmente morto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não havia desespero dentro de mim, nem medo, nem sobressalto, nem nada...existia apenas uma companhia constante, assídua e fiel, ininterrupta, e de uma maneira precária, até confortante, a solidão. Sem opção, era a amiga de todas as horas, o solene refúgio de uma alma que mais nada tinha a perder.&lt;br /&gt;A minha vida sabia a fel.&lt;br /&gt;A podridão da minha inocência, da minha força, mentiram-me. Pelo bem, pela coragem, pela persistência, andei para trás, e por mais que segurasse a porcelana, ela caiu sempre. E eu remendei-a sempre.&lt;br /&gt;A companhia do mundo é o carniceiro do espírito, luto da boa atitude, da boa vontade. Ah, como desacredito na esperança e nas lágrimas.&lt;br /&gt;O som mais valioso do Universo era a minha única recordação, o imaculado, sagrado, puro santuário da memória do meu ser.&lt;br /&gt;Era como o verdadeiro caminho, o 'para ser', o propósito.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;E se tu me compreendesses, tiravas-me daqui.&lt;/span&gt;&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/3661369050794886805-5944525559407703430?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/5944525559407703430/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=5944525559407703430' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/5944525559407703430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/5944525559407703430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/09/silencio.html' title='Silêncio'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-7791974194691867801</id><published>2010-08-26T21:33:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-08-26T21:36:44.573+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Pousa nos meus olhos, Tiago, agarra a minha mão e liberta-te.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Para que te depares contigo próprio, encontra-me.&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/3661369050794886805-7791974194691867801?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/7791974194691867801/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=7791974194691867801' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/7791974194691867801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/7791974194691867801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/08/pousa-nos-meus-olhos-tiago-agarra-minha.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-8685971601874688462</id><published>2010-06-08T21:28:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-06-08T21:31:59.380+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Deixa-me salvar-te. Por favor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&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/3661369050794886805-8685971601874688462?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/8685971601874688462/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=8685971601874688462' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8685971601874688462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8685971601874688462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/06/deixa-me-salvar-te.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-2383097391492318591</id><published>2010-02-20T23:23:00.000Z</published><updated>2010-02-20T23:24:26.054Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;O quanto eu queria alguém que apagasse a dor que eu sinto.&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/3661369050794886805-2383097391492318591?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/2383097391492318591/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=2383097391492318591' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/2383097391492318591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/2383097391492318591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/02/o-quanto-eu-queria-alguem-que-apagasse.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-4199794699545595459</id><published>2010-01-22T15:28:00.003Z</published><updated>2010-01-22T15:41:48.890Z</updated><title type='text'>Sonhos</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"&gt;Meu amor. Há tanto tempo que não vejo a tua luz, há tanto tempo que a solidão tem sido o resto que ficou cá, comigo, para mim. Nunca mais as tuas palavras se fizeram valer nos meus olhos, nunca mais as tuas mãos, as tuas grandes, ásperas e protectoras mãos deixaram o teu aroma a saudade e carência no meu corpo. Nunca mais senti o teu toque, a tua pele na minha, o teu cabelo enrolado nos meus dedos. Nunca mais a tua presença deixou rasto nos meus dias.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Tenho muitas saudades tuas. E tenho-te o mesmo amor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apenas à noite, quando os sonhos do mundo se elevam e o Universo revela o segredo da sua existência, só aí eu sou capaz de te procurar. Com toda a coragem e com todo o fogo que me aquece, eu largo o meu ser e vou à tua procura. E durante essa busca o meu coração grita "&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Onde estás? Meu amor, onde estás?&lt;/span&gt;" Nunca mais tive resposta, nem a tua voz nem o teu vento.&lt;br /&gt;Mas às vezes, aproxima-se de mim e envolve-se em mim o teu cheiro. O teu cheiro faz o meu sangue ferver, faz as minhas veias dilatarem, faz o meu coração bater mais depressa. E é tão raro o meu coração bater depressa.&lt;br /&gt;Sinto tanto a tua falta meu amor.&lt;br /&gt;Eu queria que viesses ver-me, queria saber que também me vês, me conheces. Quero-te.&lt;br /&gt;Vem, meu anjo, acalenta-me nos teus braços e eu protejo-te nos meus. Funde o espírito cor de mel no silêncio esverdeado da nossa alma.&lt;br /&gt;Confia em mim, pois só eu sei quem és. Confia em mim, porque tu estás seguro comigo.&lt;br /&gt;Somos os Deuses do Universo, a perfeição em fusão. A essência.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;E eu que te trago cá dentro, meu amor.&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/3661369050794886805-4199794699545595459?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/4199794699545595459/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=4199794699545595459' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/4199794699545595459'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/4199794699545595459'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/01/sonhos.html' title='Sonhos'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-41967106534379638</id><published>2010-01-22T15:20:00.005Z</published><updated>2010-06-15T22:47:01.406+01:00</updated><title type='text'>A nuvem</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/S1nEG7TS8TI/AAAAAAAAAIc/1D7KbHxablQ/s1600-h/Cloud-11.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/S1nEG7TS8TI/AAAAAAAAAIc/1D7KbHxablQ/s320/Cloud-11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429586449048727858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"&gt;Os meus sonhos são a minha liberdade,&lt;br /&gt;e as minhas palavras são tontas vertigens&lt;br /&gt;que pousam nas nuvens como selvagens&lt;br /&gt;rosas vermelhas, procurando a realidade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Esse rio imortal, puro, sem maldade,&lt;br /&gt;possui no seu ventre e nas verdes margens&lt;br /&gt;o grito do mundo, a emanação dos frágeis,&lt;br /&gt;inocentes, secretos, suspiros da humanidade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Que olhos os meus, verdes e transparentes,&lt;br /&gt;que tudo mostram e tudo segredam,&lt;br /&gt;que o Universo espalham, como tenras sementes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E nestes sonhos se perdem e se encontram&lt;br /&gt;as respirações, o gelo, as marés e as correntes&lt;br /&gt;que eu dentro trago, e que em mim se libertam.&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/3661369050794886805-41967106534379638?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/41967106534379638/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=41967106534379638' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/41967106534379638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/41967106534379638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/01/nuvem.html' title='A nuvem'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/S1nEG7TS8TI/AAAAAAAAAIc/1D7KbHxablQ/s72-c/Cloud-11.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-8186087117084207567</id><published>2010-01-13T18:13:00.002Z</published><updated>2010-01-13T18:15:11.402Z</updated><title type='text'>Hilfe</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/S04NnThf5ZI/AAAAAAAAAII/q2yYknFY9iI/s1600-h/desespero.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/S04NnThf5ZI/AAAAAAAAAII/q2yYknFY9iI/s320/desespero.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426289569934861714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Socorro.&lt;/span&gt;&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/3661369050794886805-8186087117084207567?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/8186087117084207567/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=8186087117084207567' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8186087117084207567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8186087117084207567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/01/hilfe.html' title='Hilfe'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/S04NnThf5ZI/AAAAAAAAAII/q2yYknFY9iI/s72-c/desespero.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-3923618241942092968</id><published>2010-01-08T17:30:00.005Z</published><updated>2010-01-08T17:37:10.593Z</updated><title type='text'>Beyond the world</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/S0dsqZIaZEI/AAAAAAAAAIA/hmNlIavLY40/s1600-h/Digitalizar0003.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424423751747527746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 408px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 244px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/S0dsqZIaZEI/AAAAAAAAAIA/hmNlIavLY40/s320/Digitalizar0003.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I closed my fragile eyes for a moment and I thought of you so softly that I could hear you heart beat whispering so loud. For a few seconds, I dare say, you were right there, feeling my pulse running faster. The mistery of a thought was never as real and as clear as that one. You eyes, your beautiful eyes held mine, even that I wasn't able to see them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing in that moment could wake me up, for I am lost inside the pureness of your soul. I remember that I wanted to cry but you didn't let that happen, your lips stopped tears of falling. You touched my hand and then you made me feel warm and protected.&lt;br /&gt;There was no sound, only the music of our voices was heard by us, there was no place because we were standing in our own world. It was just you, the one who looked at me and swore to be with me, forever. Pain and fear vanished, only love remained. Your skin, my divine man, was deep and hopefull of the secret of a breathtaking kiss. Passion and harmony were no longer apparted.&lt;br /&gt;The shout of our hearts belonged to nowhere. The join of our minds belonged to no one. No time was needed to be thought, for actually, there was no time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Don't let me fall.&lt;br /&gt;Don't let me cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Make my dream come true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now I whisper to you my holy secret&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;I love you deeply.&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/3661369050794886805-3923618241942092968?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/3923618241942092968/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=3923618241942092968' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/3923618241942092968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/3923618241942092968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2010/01/fly.html' title='Beyond the world'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/S0dsqZIaZEI/AAAAAAAAAIA/hmNlIavLY40/s72-c/Digitalizar0003.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-1957577402181998597</id><published>2009-11-29T19:11:00.006Z</published><updated>2009-12-12T17:52:27.231Z</updated><title type='text'>Scatter</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SxLJiF0X13I/AAAAAAAAAHw/KWcXMxVUwio/s1600/t%C3%A2mega3.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/_1bazQmppag8/SxLJiF0X13I/AAAAAAAAAHw/KWcXMxVUwio/s320/t%C3%A2mega3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409607689939965810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;A ti pode magoar tentares esquecer-me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"  &gt;A mim magoa lembrar-me de ti.&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/3661369050794886805-1957577402181998597?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/1957577402181998597/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=1957577402181998597' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1957577402181998597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1957577402181998597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2009/11/scatter.html' title='Scatter'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SxLJiF0X13I/AAAAAAAAAHw/KWcXMxVUwio/s72-c/t%C3%A2mega3.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-1652792014327171318</id><published>2009-11-19T20:03:00.003Z</published><updated>2009-11-19T20:44:03.770Z</updated><title type='text'>Hinata's confession (Naruto chapter 437)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SwWs3i2ep2I/AAAAAAAAAHo/mGbtNjW7dkk/s1600/Hinata-Hyuga-hinata-hyuga-966329_640_480.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/_1bazQmppag8/SwWs3i2ep2I/AAAAAAAAAHo/mGbtNjW7dkk/s320/Hinata-Hyuga-hinata-hyuga-966329_640_480.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405916997976237922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-weight: normal;"&gt;'I know...I'm just being selfish.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-weight: normal;"&gt;I'm here on my free will.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-weight: normal;"&gt;I nearly went the wrong way...I always used to cry and give up.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-weight: normal;"&gt;But you...you showed me the right way.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-weight: normal;"&gt;I wanted to be with you...&lt;br /&gt;I just wanted to walk with you...&lt;br /&gt;I was always chasing you...&lt;br /&gt;wanting to overtake you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-weight: normal;"&gt;Your smile saved me...you changed me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-weight: normal;"&gt;So, I'm not afraid to die protecting you...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Because I love you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;'&lt;br /&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/3661369050794886805-1652792014327171318?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/1652792014327171318/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=1652792014327171318' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1652792014327171318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1652792014327171318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2009/11/hinatas-confession-naruto-chapter-437.html' title='Hinata&apos;s confession (Naruto chapter 437)'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SwWs3i2ep2I/AAAAAAAAAHo/mGbtNjW7dkk/s72-c/Hinata-Hyuga-hinata-hyuga-966329_640_480.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-8854448932456127535</id><published>2009-11-06T17:22:00.002Z</published><updated>2009-11-06T17:27:59.035Z</updated><title type='text'>Azul</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SvRcYng3llI/AAAAAAAAAHg/PdM-Cmjl2ks/s1600-h/3315654154_3530a6030a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 286px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SvRcYng3llI/AAAAAAAAAHg/PdM-Cmjl2ks/s320/3315654154_3530a6030a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401043431117526610" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;'Can a heart still break, once it has stopped beating?'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;The Corpse Bride&lt;br /&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/3661369050794886805-8854448932456127535?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/8854448932456127535/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=8854448932456127535' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8854448932456127535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8854448932456127535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2009/11/azul.html' title='Azul'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SvRcYng3llI/AAAAAAAAAHg/PdM-Cmjl2ks/s72-c/3315654154_3530a6030a.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-4447517217384329500</id><published>2009-10-25T18:05:00.005Z</published><updated>2009-10-25T18:17:38.129Z</updated><title type='text'>Vela</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SuSWCkcKYcI/AAAAAAAAAHY/EGUEerzjAC4/s1600-h/Automne+%2813%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 262px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SuSWCkcKYcI/AAAAAAAAAHY/EGUEerzjAC4/s320/Automne+%2813%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396603224382398914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Eu queria um abraço. Há tanto tempo que ninguém me abraça. Queria tanto voltar a recolher o calor da pele de alguém.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;As minhas mãos reflectem-se, tão frágeis, no ar, como se fosse a única coisa em que pudessem tocar. E de facto é. O toque do nada é o mais próximo que as minhas mãos sentem de outras mãos. Estão frias de tanto esperarem, tão singelas por chamarem pela transparência da expressão.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Eu queria escrever tudo. Queria transmitir a minha essência no carvão, existir nas palavras que assentam nas árvores.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Eu gostava de ouvir a água a escorrer das pedras, de sentir o gelo a quebrar-se e a derreter no meu corpo, de estar nua e arrepiar-me na fusão.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;O quanto eu aspiro liberdade. Dá-la. Partilhá-la. O quanto eu desejo entregar-me, despida, completa, sem pudor, ao aroma do suor e ao som das cordas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Eu quero tanto respirar, ascender ao trono de Deusa e mostrar o meu peito a sangrar, a gritar, a emanar tudo o que prende.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Eu queria gostar e ver. Queria poder enviar todas as linhas ao espírito do ascendente do Inferno e fazer-me ouvir.&lt;br /&gt; Uma vez mais.&lt;br /&gt;Como um coração de porcelana.&lt;/span&gt;&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/3661369050794886805-4447517217384329500?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/4447517217384329500/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=4447517217384329500' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/4447517217384329500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/4447517217384329500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2009/10/vela.html' title='Vela'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SuSWCkcKYcI/AAAAAAAAAHY/EGUEerzjAC4/s72-c/Automne+%2813%29.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-1319703972385720717</id><published>2009-10-10T17:03:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-10-10T17:06:12.893+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Hand</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/StCwZvQjIPI/AAAAAAAAAHI/ApSfaLyeTS4/s1600-h/despedida.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 221px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/StCwZvQjIPI/AAAAAAAAAHI/ApSfaLyeTS4/s320/despedida.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391002710191579378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div  style="text-align: center;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" &gt;A névoa fresca enverga os seus ramos, flamejantes como pedras que chocam e formam luz. Sublimes as árvores que no decorrer de cada infinito instante, sopram o vento e o murmúrio das vozes inaudíveis, invisíveis, adormecidas no ventre do sono que perdura em existir.&lt;br /&gt;Pelos antros da estrela vagueiam as nuvens brancas, procurando o travo adocicado do mel espalhado na rua. E nesse céu primitivo e eterno, descansa a lua, cinzenta e vazia, esperando solenemente o dia.&lt;br /&gt;Quantos sonhos se guardam no canto de um pedaço de razão, quantos sonhos se perdem no quarto do medo, quantos sonhos se sonham enquanto se acorda…&lt;br /&gt;Apenas na indiferença do ser, eu crio o mistério. Quem me encontrar jamais terá de me procurar no estado da sua inexistência.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&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/3661369050794886805-1319703972385720717?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/1319703972385720717/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=1319703972385720717' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1319703972385720717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1319703972385720717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2009/10/hand_10.html' title='Hand'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/StCwZvQjIPI/AAAAAAAAAHI/ApSfaLyeTS4/s72-c/despedida.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-1215422270330534303</id><published>2009-09-15T22:15:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-09-15T22:29:37.879+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Open</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.savingadvice.com/images/blog/empty-house-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 379px;" src="http://www.savingadvice.com/images/blog/empty-house-1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I know where to find you though I don't know where you are.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;And then I feel like running.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Strange things I say, empty of meaning...full of callings...laid in mellow clouds.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&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/3661369050794886805-1215422270330534303?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/1215422270330534303/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=1215422270330534303' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1215422270330534303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1215422270330534303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-know-where-to-find-you-though-i-dont.html' title='Open'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-2347535644291414490</id><published>2009-09-11T18:18:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2009-09-11T18:29:00.321+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Blind soul sees no words</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/cf/Aquarelle_guitard.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 368px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/cf/Aquarelle_guitard.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"&gt;O teu silêncio abate-se contra o meu desenho a aguarela vermelha. Assemelha-se a um castigo, a uma pena que me acusa de algo que desconheço. E assim as cores do rio e das nuvens tornam-se vermelhas também.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nos caminhos da floresta há folhas, pedras e vento.&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/3661369050794886805-2347535644291414490?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/2347535644291414490/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=2347535644291414490' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/2347535644291414490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/2347535644291414490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2009/09/o-teu-silencio-abate-se-contra-o-meu.html' title='Blind soul sees no words'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-5974984745909511279</id><published>2009-07-07T19:09:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-07-07T19:40:27.403+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Morning drug</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SlOWKvmLXeI/AAAAAAAAAGU/Y1hexWIcNaY/s1600-h/Sola-Matsuri-sad.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 160px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SlOWKvmLXeI/AAAAAAAAAGU/Y1hexWIcNaY/s320/Sola-Matsuri-sad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355789493193104866" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Creio que o céu me chama. Lá longe, onde o vento marcha e delira e me enfaixa com arrepios e correntes frias, lá longe, onde o meu corpo se funde com o fogo e deixa-se queimar.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fervura.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O sangue palpita.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Estar só onde o céu está é como gritar com contracção, é como abrir a mão e não a fechar, é como abraçar a areia. É não estar.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não fazer sentido é a maior lógica, olhar, ouvir, saborear...sem entender o significado.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Talvez seja como proibir o sentimento, escutar o seu murmúrio e por mais que o espírito peça, ter de o enterrar.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Entre sofrer e não amar, escolher um destes caminhos transforma o que antes era abrigo em exposição.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;A espera, lá longe, desespera, amedrontece, curva a coragem. É náusea que abafa na garganta e contamina a vida, não sai, circula, sem ponto de início ou de final, vai e volta, mas não pára. Faz cremar os olhos e acorrenta a saudade à boca.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lá longe, onde as montanhas são verdes e nascem as rosas, o tempo é longo demais para morrer.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lá longe, onde a essência ébria ressalta e conduz, brota a música, a sabedoria, o sorriso, a paz e o amor.&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/3661369050794886805-5974984745909511279?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/5974984745909511279/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=5974984745909511279' title='6 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/5974984745909511279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/5974984745909511279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2009/07/morning-drug.html' title='Morning drug'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SlOWKvmLXeI/AAAAAAAAAGU/Y1hexWIcNaY/s72-c/Sola-Matsuri-sad.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-8839457783500926946</id><published>2009-06-22T18:28:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-06-22T18:42:14.597+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Inocent</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/Sj_CVWdUFeI/AAAAAAAAAGM/T3iOrDnumwg/s1600-h/Sem+t%C3%ADtulo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 247px; height: 247px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/Sj_CVWdUFeI/AAAAAAAAAGM/T3iOrDnumwg/s320/Sem+t%C3%ADtulo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350208554401011170" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Then I hold his hand.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Then he takes me away.&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/3661369050794886805-8839457783500926946?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/8839457783500926946/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=8839457783500926946' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8839457783500926946'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8839457783500926946'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2009/06/then-i-hold-his-hand.html' title='Inocent'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/Sj_CVWdUFeI/AAAAAAAAAGM/T3iOrDnumwg/s72-c/Sem+t%C3%ADtulo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-2947101719609234831</id><published>2009-05-10T12:56:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-05-10T13:54:19.945+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Am I alive?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Sometimes I close the door and, sweetly, I stop, standing and reading the words you used to tell me, so wildly, when we were free.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Like a mountain that keeps you away of climbing, my heart feels inept of reaching the darkness your soul hides, blinding you, causing pain on me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I whisper.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Sometimes I dream about you. And I remember when you held me, the sun seemed higher, distance was far away, and we felt safe together. There was nothing able to make us appart, for we were untouchable. We were one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I cry.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Sometimes I miss you. I stare at the sky and my soul remembers when there were no heart tight spots. In my world, there was only our dream, our life, our feeling. Mistery was beautiful, and missing you was a sign that one day we'ld hold each other, once more. Stars used to show me the way to meet you again. My greenish thoughts didn't shed blood anymore. Until now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I hope.&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/3661369050794886805-2947101719609234831?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/2947101719609234831/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=2947101719609234831' title='5 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/2947101719609234831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/2947101719609234831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2009/05/am-i-alive.html' title='Am I alive?'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-8720904679980226339</id><published>2009-05-02T21:49:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-05-02T22:22:56.567+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Within the blood</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://nitrogenio.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/mao3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 408px; height: 307px;" src="http://nitrogenio.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/mao3.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Entre mim e o mundo, já não sei quem é mais vazio&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Eu prometi que a tua alma jamais se sentiria só, agora que me encontraste.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Eu prometi que as nossas mãos iriam escorrer uma na outra, e que uma gota de sangue derramado pelo rio, as iria afogar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Eu prometi que viveria contigo, não por ti.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Eu prometi que, para além da dor, o meu peito seria teu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Eu prometi que nos entregaríamos no nosso mundo, que este não está preparado para nós.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Eu prometi que te amaria para sempre. Só a ti.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Eu prometo amar-te. Minha vida e morte.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&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/3661369050794886805-8720904679980226339?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/8720904679980226339/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=8720904679980226339' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8720904679980226339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8720904679980226339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2009/05/within-blood.html' title='Within the blood'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-2772060533401548876</id><published>2009-04-18T21:45:00.006+01:00</published><updated>2009-06-10T12:20:02.921+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Shoutin'</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jqUutYJeb_c/ReNGIlW4nZI/AAAAAAAAAcg/tRNd91SJqFg/s400/John-Henry-Fuseli_Silence_1799-1801.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 348px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jqUutYJeb_c/ReNGIlW4nZI/AAAAAAAAAcg/tRNd91SJqFg/s400/John-Henry-Fuseli_Silence_1799-1801.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Tenho vontade de gritar. Quero inspirar devagar, sentir cada pedaço de ar a percorrer e a deslizar no meu íntimo, quero saborear o movimento da respiração, apertar as mãos e fazê-las sangrar, quero molhar a minha alma com o desvanecer dos sonhos, quero saber que estou viva,  chegar ao auge na voz dos meus pulmões, abraçar o mundo com o coração nas mãos...e quero...eu quero gritar.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Eu preciso de esganar a garganta, arranhar a minha pele, preciso de acreditar que ainda existo, que sempre hei-de existir.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Tenho a revolta dentro do peito, uma batida sonora que me persegue, marcando o seu ritmo ininterruptamente, deixando-me a derramar apertos nos seus compassos duros e fracos. Um eufemismo de morte circunda cada palavra. Não há silêncio nesta fria batalha que travo comigo mesma. Através da profundeza da mente que ainda procuro, sufoco o pensamento que me afasta da verdade. Apenas a vontade de ascender me guarda a alma. Descobrir a essência do espírito que me espera.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Afinal, a alma é eterna, assim como a sua junção com uma outra que a complete.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Tal como tu completas a minha e eu a tua.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&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/3661369050794886805-2772060533401548876?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/2772060533401548876/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=2772060533401548876' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/2772060533401548876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/2772060533401548876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2009/04/shoutin.html' title='Shoutin&apos;'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jqUutYJeb_c/ReNGIlW4nZI/AAAAAAAAAcg/tRNd91SJqFg/s72-c/John-Henry-Fuseli_Silence_1799-1801.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-7384925031293370978</id><published>2009-03-08T17:52:00.002Z</published><updated>2009-03-08T18:08:12.358Z</updated><title type='text'>Because I love you</title><content type='html'>The sky was never as close to me as it is when you say that you love me. Nothing is as bright as my eyes when I see you. My heart beats so fast when I approach to your lips and I feel them touch mine, slowly. I hold your hand as tightly as I can, for there's no moment that fills me but this. I just wanted you to close your eyes and feel me, because I'm always by your side, like I promised. My thoughts only want you, my love, they only ask for your heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm yours. Always yours.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-7384925031293370978?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/7384925031293370978/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=7384925031293370978' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/7384925031293370978'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/7384925031293370978'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2009/03/because-i-love-you.html' title='Because I love you'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-819779032075772783</id><published>2009-03-08T17:41:00.004Z</published><updated>2009-03-08T17:51:37.997Z</updated><title type='text'>The Deliverance</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I know that distance always screams as loud as thunder. However my heart screams louder, for love has held my voice.&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/3661369050794886805-819779032075772783?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/819779032075772783/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=819779032075772783' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/819779032075772783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/819779032075772783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2009/03/deliverance.html' title='The Deliverance'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-8543400523172340225</id><published>2009-01-17T18:48:00.004Z</published><updated>2009-01-17T19:16:52.767Z</updated><title type='text'>The words I've found in a hole</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.mcvalore.com.br/images/pen-write.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 413px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 269px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.mcvalore.com.br/images/pen-write.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Procurei no dicionário o significado da palavra 'eu'. O que encontrei foi 'pronome pessoal, designa a primeira pessoa do singular'. Mas eu, não sou um pronome pessoal, eu não sou a primeira pessoa do singular. Eu, eu sou uma palavra, mais concretamente o meu nome, que quando é proferido alberga sempre o que ainda não encontrei: a minha essência.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Procurei na Internet o significado do meu nome, mas talvez por ser invulgar, não encontrei tal correspondência, o que dificulta bastante a tarefa de me definir, ou de dar um sentido àquilo que sou.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Diz-se que os olhos são o espelho da alma. E de facto, na minha confusa transparência esverdeada, eu vi aquilo que é suposto ser a palavra 'eu', o meu mundo, a minha vida. Tenho a diferença estampada no rosto, a distinção que me faz dizer que não sou deste mundo, porque não me identifico com ninguém, porque sou anormal o suficiente para não ser alguém daqui. Tudo é estranho no meu olhar, pois eu mesma sou estranha. Vejo a vida em tudo o que morreu, e tento, estupidamente mudar o mundo, transformar o Universo. Sou curiosa, quero saber tudo e cada vez mais, não me contento com os sonhos. Digo o que sinto, não o que penso, e se não digo revolto-me. Caminho em silêncio e adormeço no embalar da música, e falo, eu falo quando tenho necessidade, mesmo que esteja sozinha.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Alguém me disse que tenho medo de mim própria, que tenho medo de sentir. Sim, eu sou a minha pior inimiga, por não me deixar ter confiança na minha pele. Acredito mais na Natureza do que em mim própria, pois a Natureza é perfeita e eu não, e no entanto, faço parte dela. A liberdade que encontrei depois de morrer trouxe-me o meu mundo, um mundo onde eu sou feliz. É lá que eu vivo e existo, é lá que encontro as respostas sem fazer as perguntas. E é bom, ser tão livre como sou, ser tão estranha como sou, ser tão única como sou.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;O nome, o meu nome tem o significado que eu quiser, e o meu nome significa essência.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-8543400523172340225?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/8543400523172340225/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=8543400523172340225' title='5 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8543400523172340225'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8543400523172340225'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2009/01/procurei-no-dicionrio-o-significado-da.html' title='The words I&apos;ve found in a hole'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-5192410899287162961</id><published>2008-12-04T20:49:00.002Z</published><updated>2008-12-04T21:25:45.941Z</updated><title type='text'>«Breathe, you are still alive»</title><content type='html'>&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 406px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 280px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://blogs.salon.com/0002007/images/suicide.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Encontrei o meu tempo a pensar na minha morte. Sim, eu morri, há uns meses, quase um ano, morri durante umas horas. Talvez tivesse falecido há mais tempo, eu não sei, ou não quero saber. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;A música tem o dom de nos escutar quando precisamos, e a minha guitarra é o meu diário. E foram precisamente as minhas mãos a acariciarem as cordas, a sensação de cada nota, que fizeram o meu tempo pensar na minha própria morte. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;O meu suicídio. Ou pelo menos, a minha tentativa para tal. Quando não há mais nada que nos faça sentir, ele é a solução. Encontra-se na morte algo melhor que este mundo. Era o que eu achava. E a caixa dos comprimidos não estava longe. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Creio que não pensei muito no que estava a fazer. Tinha passado o dia a questionar-me e não encontrei nenhuma resposta. Não pensei sequer que alguém fosse sentir a minha falta. Apenas não sentia, como se andasse à deriva na vida. Na vida que eu não vivia, ou melhor, na vida que não me deixaram viver. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Tinha uma sensação de gozo a cada comprimido que engolia, como se pudesse controlar o meu destino, como se tudo fosse acabar, de vez. Correu mal. Ou bem. Depende da perspectiva. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;A verdade é que fui encontrada ainda com vida. Eu encontrei-me com vida. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Agora acredito que por mais difícil que seja passar mais um dia no limiar do Céu e do Inferno, a esperança é sempre uma cura. E ela está sempre lá. Mesmo que não a vejamos. A esperança consegue mudar o nosso rumo. Depende de nós.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;«A felicidade procura-te» (Mariana R. Silva)&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/3661369050794886805-5192410899287162961?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/5192410899287162961/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=5192410899287162961' title='5 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/5192410899287162961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/5192410899287162961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/12/breathe-you-are-still-alive.html' title='«Breathe, you are still alive»'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-3210869089498182231</id><published>2008-12-01T17:41:00.004Z</published><updated>2008-12-01T19:36:10.939Z</updated><title type='text'>Dawn at the deep sea</title><content type='html'>&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 317px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 209px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.capetownskies.com/1574/22_dawn_mist_rcrse_hhb.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Tenho medo. E se tenho medo, é porque ainda tenho algo a perder, é porque afinal, não estou sozinha. Posso estar longe da segurança e do brilhozinho nos olhos, mas não estou sozinha. Não estás aqui, estás comigo e estás connosco. E o que ainda tenho a perder, é o que nunca ganhei na vida.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;No silêncio de cada nota musical, pronuncio o teu nome, e na esperança agreste de um dia ser livre, eu vejo-te. Estendo a mão para escutar a pulsação que emerge dos batimentos da tua essência. E sinto a tua respiração, o arrebitar espontâneo de cada inspiração e expiração que os teus pulmões, inconscientemente ventilam. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Surgem-me sensações de bem-estar. A perfeição de um sentimento achada num leve gesto que o meu tacto faz questão de exemplificar. O bater do teu coração.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Era saudade misturada com um estranho prazer. Num momento, ouço o crepitar do teu interior ainda quente, e saboreio o beijo, aquele beijo de despedida que fazes sempre questão de me dar. É tão bom sentir a tua boca a aquecer a minha, enquanto te abraço ou te dou as mãos, e saber que aquela abstracta junção da minha alma e da tua é apenas nossa. E logo a seguir, uma luz opaca instala-se no nosso olhar enquanto as nossas mãos se descolam, e um simples 'amo-te' se solta das nossas cordas vocais. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Eu não queria vir embora naquele dia. Mais do que em qualquer outra tarde em que estivemos juntos, eu não te queria deixar assim. Não é justo estarmos longe. Não é justo querermos viver e não nos deixarem. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Mas vale a pena. Aliás, 'tudo vale a pena, se a alma não é pequena'. E estes pequeninos traços de vazio que se estendem durante estas semanas, vão acabar por se desvanecer. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;E eu acredito que um dia, a liberdade vem ter connosco e nos vai levar para o nosso mundo, para a vida que tanto queremos e acredito na força da nossa música, a palavra exprimida a cada acorde que nos une. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;O medo assusta-me e tu sabes que sim. Mas o que vem depois do medo, fortalece a minha segurança, não há nada que consiga derrubar a minha alma perdida na tua.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-3210869089498182231?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/3210869089498182231/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=3210869089498182231' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/3210869089498182231'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/3210869089498182231'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/12/dawn-at-deep-sea.html' title='Dawn at the deep sea'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-1980432052937455769</id><published>2008-09-30T18:45:00.005+01:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T20:43:33.549+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O silêncio das palavras nem sempre é o «nada»</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;" align="justify" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Preocupo-me com a própria palavra «preocupação». Porque é que nos preocupamos com algo? O que há para nos colocar em estado de pânico? Tenho uma opinião pessoal sobre o assunto, sim. Simplesmente penso que nos preocupamos porque não temos mais nada para fazer. Pelo meu ponto de vista, se os sentimentos e o mundo abstracto fossem mais valorizados, não havia razão para preocupações. Se o amor fosse menos banalizado e mais sentido, se a alegria fosse espalhada e não desperdiçada, se o silêncio fosse alívio e não dor, se a palavra fosse ouvida, mas não dita, se a vida fosse sonhada, mas não vivida, aí sim, o mundo não era tão pressionado nem as pessoas eram esquecidas. Simplesmente, a realidade era a verdade e o caminho era o sentido. Não é esse o nosso objectivo? Ser feliz. E a felicidade não provém de sacrifício, a felicidade vem com a esperança. Se a cabeça sossegasse e o coração pudesse respirar, as preocupações transformar-se-iam em novas ideias e emoções. A liberdade, aliás, a verdadeira liberdade era descoberta num sorriso, numa palavra, não numa definição. Para ser livre, preciso de deixar o coração falar. E agora, que preocupação sentir? Nada, porque sou livre. Encontrei a vida depois de morrer e perceber que existe muito mais no mundo que aquilo que conheço.&lt;br /&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/3661369050794886805-1980432052937455769?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/1980432052937455769/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=1980432052937455769' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1980432052937455769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1980432052937455769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/09/o-silncio-das-palavras-nem-sempre-o.html' title='O silêncio das palavras nem sempre é o «nada»'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-821078890770239379</id><published>2008-09-30T18:28:00.005+01:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T20:45:41.574+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Aula de Filosofia :'D</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SOJkfVuxXtI/AAAAAAAAADw/sHUSEOtULcI/s1600-h/pensar.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251870605039460050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SOJkfVuxXtI/AAAAAAAAADw/sHUSEOtULcI/s320/pensar.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Todos os nossos «quero» se resumem a algo ou alguém que não temos. Por isso usamos o verbo querer. Mas no que toca ao pensamento, ao «pensar», não há materialização. Só se sabe o que se vê, cheira, toca, ouve. Não é possível saber amar, odiar, o que seja, muito menos pensar. O pensamento não se sabe, sente-se, assim como o amor ou o ódio. Acredito que cada pessoa é livre de pensar sem se regir por regras, sem saber, porque o saber é isso mesmo, observar pela lógica. E o pensamento não é lógica nem certo. Creio que o acto de pensar é das poucas coisas que ainda garantem liberdade pessoal. Penso que não se deveria procurar significado para o pensamento, mas sim, deixá-lo fluir. Ninguém pode querer saber pensar, porque mais uma vez, não se sabe pensar, sente-se o pensamento. &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/3661369050794886805-821078890770239379?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/821078890770239379/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=821078890770239379' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/821078890770239379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/821078890770239379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/09/aula-de-filosofia-d.html' title='Aula de Filosofia :&apos;D'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SOJkfVuxXtI/AAAAAAAAADw/sHUSEOtULcI/s72-c/pensar.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-1568301117303160330</id><published>2008-08-10T23:39:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T20:48:37.538+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Caleidoscópio</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://imagensperdidas.no.sapo.pt/gallery_W_Watts_George_Frederick_Watts,%20George%20Frederick%20-%20Hope2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://imagensperdidas.no.sapo.pt/gallery_W_Watts_George_Frederick_Watts,%20George%20Frederick%20-%20Hope2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Precisava que alguém estivesse aqui. Alguém para me embalar e me consertar o coração. Sinto-me só e perdida, caminho numa estrada sem destino, sem rumo, repleta de nada, solitária. Não há ninguém aqui, neste mundo chamado «meu sonho», apenas resido eu, numa abstração branca, verde e fria, sentada num canto que não existe. Brota uma lágrima dentro de mim, a seguir outra, e mais uma que teima em derramar. Não percebo a razão do meu choro leve, molhado, silencioso. Pergunto-me por quê, mas se eu não sei a resposta, como poderei responder ao meu «eu» confuso e impaciente? Há tantas dúvidas que percorrem a minha pele e nada que as possa sustentar. Devia sorrir em momentos como este, esboçar uma pequenina esperança, pelo menos. É difícil, muito difícil levantar-me depois de uma queda à qual sobrevivi. Não reparei que tinha tropeçado num fundo precipício e deixei-me continuar a caminhar num nada. Só notei quando bati no chão e não vi ninguém à minha espera. Tenho as mãos feridas e o olhar abatido e opaco. Tento recolher os pedacinhos do meu coração e juntá-los de novo, mas são tantos que não os encontro todos. As pedras da montanha persistem em não me deixar subir, sangram-me o peito, as mãos, mordo os lábios para esquecer a dor e saber que ainda estou viva. Escorre sangue da minha boca. Toco em tudo à minha volta, à procura de uma saída, de uma porta, uma janela, algo que me liberte. Subitamente, tudo pára. Entrei num denso vazio que chama o meu nome e a minha alma. Pensei em refugiar-me lá até me sentir segura...deitei-me e fechei os meus olhos, já sem cor. Deixei de respirar, não havia ar e não ouvia nada. Sim, estava morta. E não tinha medo, apenas o silêncio me acompanhava.&lt;br /&gt;Mas alguém perguntou ao céu por mim. E o céu respondeu. Uma brisa meiga e afável renovou os meus pulmões e abraçou-me o cabelo. Afinal havia vida em mim...ainda havia um som para ouvir, uma palavra para expressar...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-1568301117303160330?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/1568301117303160330/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=1568301117303160330' title='5 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1568301117303160330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1568301117303160330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/08/caleidoscpio.html' title='Caleidoscópio'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-8307254131990682615</id><published>2008-07-23T20:44:00.006+01:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T20:49:28.577+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Summer night illusion</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Meu desejo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As tuas palavras são momentos&lt;br /&gt;que suspiram em mim, ardentes,&lt;br /&gt;loucas, como sonhos quentes&lt;br /&gt;que flamejam em mim, sedentos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;de te olhar, por sentimentos,&lt;br /&gt;em beijos de demência e dissolventes,&lt;br /&gt;que deixas em mim em longas vertentes&lt;br /&gt;e que pousam leves, nos meus pensamentos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deste-me a esperança, meu querido distante&lt;br /&gt;e eu quero dar-me a ti, perdidamente.&lt;br /&gt;Faz-me tua, para sempre, amante.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leva-me à lua, ao mar estridente,&lt;br /&gt;Cega-me com a tua boca vibrante...&lt;br /&gt;Ama-me, meu desejo refulgente.&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/3661369050794886805-8307254131990682615?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/8307254131990682615/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=8307254131990682615' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8307254131990682615'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/8307254131990682615'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/07/deste-me-de-novo-um-sorriso.html' title='Summer night illusion'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-9011764816823322192</id><published>2008-07-23T18:45:00.006+01:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T20:49:59.539+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O fim de um sonho</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.saynotocrack.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/11/rain.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.saynotocrack.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/11/rain.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Ela olhou em redor e não viu ninguém. Concluiu então que estava sozinha no meio do Parque. Sentiu-se bastante aliviada e agoniada o suficiente para expressar a sua dor...gritou desesperada por ele, mas apenas escutou a voz do vento medonha e fortíssima, em resposta à sua intensa mágoa, a maior mágoa à face da Terra. O céu tornou-se negro, mais negro do que o luto de um funeral e as nuvens dissiparam-se no meio daquela tempestade celeste...&lt;br /&gt;A chuva não tardou e encharcou-a de tristeza. Para ela, a chuva era a menor importância naquele instante. Sentiu os seus olhos a encherem-se de lágrimas tão pequeninas como as lágrimas do céu, mas eram mais tristes e magoadas do que as flores murchas existentes naquele lugar.&lt;br /&gt;O infinito do Universo era menor que a dor dela. Desfaleceu ali mesmo, gritando e chamando pelo nome que sempre desejara e amara...mas ninguém respondeu, apenas a relva a acolheu e a embalou num sono do qual jamais iria acordar.&lt;br /&gt;A morte era a única solução para esquecer o que sofreu por aquele amor puro e demente... &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/3661369050794886805-9011764816823322192?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/9011764816823322192/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=9011764816823322192' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/9011764816823322192'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/9011764816823322192'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/07/ela-olhou-em-redor-e-no-viu-ningum.html' title='O fim de um sonho'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-7227449867405998078</id><published>2008-07-09T22:30:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:12:30.586Z</updated><title type='text'>Feliz assim, espero =)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SHU0VG8Ip0I/AAAAAAAAADQ/x8i71WO_88M/s1600-h/destino-thumb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221136880250693442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SHU0VG8Ip0I/AAAAAAAAADQ/x8i71WO_88M/s400/destino-thumb.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Sem mim, calma em ti&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Os meus lábios desesperam pelos teus,&lt;br /&gt;um sôfrego olhar palpita na minha mão,&lt;br /&gt;és tu, quente e frémito e gelado escaldão&lt;br /&gt;que vagueia doce e brutalmente pelos céus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E são os teus sonhos que acordam os meus,&lt;br /&gt;e a liberdade que se refugia no mar, em vão,&lt;br /&gt;porque os laços que nos prendem às ondas do coração&lt;br /&gt;são como caminhos que nos levam a Deus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E és tu, apaixonante som de guitarra,&lt;br /&gt;que conta à lua o silêncio da dor,&lt;br /&gt;e ao Sol o teu mundo, que me agarra.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E sou eu, que simplesmente sem cor,&lt;br /&gt;vou-me chegando à música que me amarra,&lt;br /&gt;deixando em mim um sopro brando de amor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;06.06.2008&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-7227449867405998078?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/7227449867405998078/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=7227449867405998078' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/7227449867405998078'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/7227449867405998078'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/07/feliz-assim-espero.html' title='Feliz assim, espero =)'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SHU0VG8Ip0I/AAAAAAAAADQ/x8i71WO_88M/s72-c/destino-thumb.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-1900736628369232139</id><published>2008-07-01T20:51:00.006+01:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:12:30.697Z</updated><title type='text'>Soneto que fala por si...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SGqeY55KDNI/AAAAAAAAADA/OdO5TEyVzxk/s1600-h/beijo008.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218157268956744914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SGqeY55KDNI/AAAAAAAAADA/OdO5TEyVzxk/s400/beijo008.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Delírio&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Talvez sejas um abismo perdido,&lt;br /&gt;no puro deleite da mágoa fervida&lt;br /&gt;num poço gelado de água despida,&lt;br /&gt;a quem o céu deu o mar esquecido.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Talvez até sejas o vento dissolvido&lt;br /&gt;numa palavra doce e colorida,&lt;br /&gt;em que a perfeição, modesta e polida&lt;br /&gt;ofereceu o medo quente e fugidío.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E eu, simples e frágil sustento&lt;br /&gt;sou calma e só, e misteriosa,&lt;br /&gt;um som, um nada, um momento,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;que em tudo guardo silenciosa,&lt;br /&gt;o sonho que secretamente tento&lt;br /&gt;dar-te, numa lágrima fervorosa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;27.06.2008&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/3661369050794886805-1900736628369232139?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/1900736628369232139/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=1900736628369232139' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1900736628369232139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/1900736628369232139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/07/soneto-que-fala-por-si.html' title='Soneto que fala por si...'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/SGqeY55KDNI/AAAAAAAAADA/OdO5TEyVzxk/s72-c/beijo008.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-3522104672653181665</id><published>2008-06-09T19:40:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T20:52:03.304+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Ao meu sonho =)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.kazechan.blogger.com.br/100_1101.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.kazechan.blogger.com.br/100_1101.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Utopia&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Desperta lentamente a minha mão,&lt;br /&gt;esperando a tua, que não vem,&lt;br /&gt;e um suspiro a envolve tão bem&lt;br /&gt;que nem percebe que se abre em vão.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E sozinho, de rastos, busca meu coração&lt;br /&gt;um sonho perdido, morto além,&lt;br /&gt;que sem pudor se abriu também&lt;br /&gt;e que recebeu, apenas, a solidão.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E eu procuro-te infinitamente,&lt;br /&gt;tentando descobrir alguma cor,&lt;br /&gt;nesta negra paixão demente.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas a poderosa, imponente dor,&lt;br /&gt;vem-me acalentando, assim, somente,&lt;br /&gt;não me deixando encontrar-te, amor!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;05.02.2008&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/3661369050794886805-3522104672653181665?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/3522104672653181665/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=3522104672653181665' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/3522104672653181665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/3522104672653181665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/06/ao-meu-sonho.html' title='Ao meu sonho =)'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-3447668138086490181</id><published>2008-06-09T19:28:00.005+01:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T20:52:51.142+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Aos meus amigos :')</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://clientes.netvisao.pt/mapsl/mundo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://clientes.netvisao.pt/mapsl/mundo.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Tu pediste&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Amigo. Uma força inesperada&lt;br /&gt;vinda do coração mais profundo,&lt;br /&gt;está contigo na descoberta do mundo,&lt;br /&gt;acompanha-te em cada caminhada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Em cada momento, em cada chamada,&lt;br /&gt;abre-te a alma vivamente a qualquer segundo,&lt;br /&gt;ajuda-te a sair do poço mais fundo,&lt;br /&gt;ensina-te a viver em toda a partida, em toda a chegada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dia após dia, vai-se tornando essencial&lt;br /&gt;a palavra, o sentido procurado&lt;br /&gt;a cada hora normal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E a vida, sem rosto imaculado,&lt;br /&gt;transforma-se no teu ideal.&lt;br /&gt;Amizade...um desejo enfim realizado.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;10.02.2008&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/3661369050794886805-3447668138086490181?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/3447668138086490181/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=3447668138086490181' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/3447668138086490181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/3447668138086490181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/06/tu-pediste-amigo.html' title='Aos meus amigos :&apos;)'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-4955577430100659164</id><published>2008-03-25T14:11:00.003Z</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:12:30.961Z</updated><title type='text'>A rapariga que te esperou</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/R-kODA8wsyI/AAAAAAAAACU/Ly74k6i7nWQ/s1600-h/Automne+(18).jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181688291223712546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/R-kODA8wsyI/AAAAAAAAACU/Ly74k6i7nWQ/s400/Automne+(18).jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Esperei por ti. Esperei até ao mais ínfimo momento, esperei até não restar mais tempo para esperar, esperei até me perder e sei que nunca mais hei-de me encontrar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Vivi através de sonhos, os meus sonhos. Aquelas esperanças que me invadem o coração e não a cabeça, e que, apesar de irreais, são delas que eu vivi, e vivo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Acreditei tanto, muito mesmo...acreditei com toda a coragem que tinha em mim. Fui tão forte e tão fraca ao mesmo tempo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Acho que nunca soube desistir. No fundo, sei que foi isso que me permitiu descobrir-me, aprender a levantar-me depois de cair e a sorrir depois de chorar. A verdade é que eu gosto de sentir essa força a desorientar-me, a deixar-me assim, desta forma, sem saber por que espero, mesmo tendo consciência de que não há mais nada que valha o meu tempo. Sempre pensei que fôssemos ficar juntos, que toda a dor fosse embora e só ficasses tu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Amo-te, sabes?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Se calhar não, porque nunca te disse e duvido que um dia te direi...mas nenhuma pessoa ouviu estas palavras da minha boca, verdadeiramente. Sempre acreditei que serias o primeiro e o único e é por isso que dói, porque agarrei-me demasiado a ti, coloquei toda a esperança nesta utopia e não me valeu de nada.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Sei aproveitar cada momento contigo, cada palavra tua, cada olhar teu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Mas as palavras que sonhei que me dirias e o olhar que sonhei que me farias, não passam disso mesmo, sonhos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;E é triste, é muito triste deixar um sonho acabar assim. Mas fui eu que o deixei morrer. Nunca quis lutar, porque acredito que nunca se luta pela felicidade. Espera-se por ela, e eu esperei-a. Mas ela não veio. Se virá, não sei...muito menos se estarás comigo quando for a altura.&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/3661369050794886805-4955577430100659164?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/4955577430100659164/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=4955577430100659164' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/4955577430100659164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/4955577430100659164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/03/rapariga-que-te-esperou.html' title='A rapariga que te esperou'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/R-kODA8wsyI/AAAAAAAAACU/Ly74k6i7nWQ/s72-c/Automne+(18).jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-5484055890307171415</id><published>2008-02-17T21:10:00.004Z</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:12:31.083Z</updated><title type='text'>My garden</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/R7yq436C1kI/AAAAAAAAABo/ACJJVUYUPKU/s1600-h/Jardim+S.R.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169194366371288642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/R7yq436C1kI/AAAAAAAAABo/ACJJVUYUPKU/s400/Jardim+S.R.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;When I'm feeling down, sad and hopeless, I go to the place that can make my dreams and my sighs get stronger and help me find my way.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;There is where my heart feels safe and my soul doesn't feel so empty. Sometimes I want to cry and when I'm really bad, I wish I could die and disappear forever...In those moments, something tells me to look for my garden and stay there, until I feel better. That's what I do. It really makes me stop crying and makes my tears go away. In my garden, I can find peace, tranquility and realize what life and living mean. «Home is where they understand you», they say. And my garden is where I feel at home, because I know that the trees, the grass, the flowers, the leaves and the sky understand me and my pain. That's the reason why they can make me stop suffering.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I know that it sounds crazy but I guess that everyone has their special place, right? Well, mine is my garden...for me, it's one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. It looks so unreal, like a fairy tale, there, I can find my story and restart living again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I wish I could never feel appart from my garden. Without it, I think I would be lost. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3661369050794886805-5484055890307171415?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/5484055890307171415/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=5484055890307171415' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/5484055890307171415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/5484055890307171415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/02/my-garden.html' title='My garden'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/R7yq436C1kI/AAAAAAAAABo/ACJJVUYUPKU/s72-c/Jardim+S.R.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-6334758246550261430</id><published>2008-02-11T20:40:00.001Z</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:12:31.513Z</updated><title type='text'>Seguir em frente</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/R7C3En6C1jI/AAAAAAAAABg/gmYcR0g74mM/s1600-h/arc_en_ciel.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165830062653756978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/R7C3En6C1jI/AAAAAAAAABg/gmYcR0g74mM/s400/arc_en_ciel.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Quantas vezes desejamos poder voltar atrás e fazer tudo de novo, começar de outra forma, aproveitar cada momento, seja ele bom ou menos bom, mas apenas saboreá-lo, prendê-lo na alma com demora, tentando que seja eterno. É impossível...é um dos maiores desafios para o Homem, poder parar o tempo e regredir nele...mudar decisões...tudo para que a vida seja segura. Mas o que é a vida, afinal, sem estes tais momentos inesperados, escorregados por entre as mãos como água...o que á a surpresa momentânea sem sustos ou dúvidas ou pontos de interrogação...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Não se pode mudar o passado. O que aconteceu não pode ser alterado, a tristeza e a dor não podem ser transformadas...senão as lições de vida não seriam aprendidas correctamente.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;No entanto, mesmo assim, mesmo não podendo voltar atrás e começar de novo, é possível continuar de uma maneira diferente e fazer um novo final...não é por algo incompreendido e vago que o futuro será assim. A vida continua e o tempo não pára...existem ainda novas lições à espera...optimistas e pessimistas, mas não deixam de ser importantes. Se nos deixamos entregar à saudade então isso também é desperdiçar a vida...é hora de aprender a viver.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Leva tempo, mas a felicidade está mesmo dentro de nós. Só não a vê quem não quer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;O passado é então uma recordação...ajuda-nos a pensar o presente e a preparar o futuro...não deve ser visto como constante, mas sim como um aviso...porque viver significa continuar para a frente, sem medo...e não voltar atrás, com a insegurança de que tudo corra mal...porque não vai.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Não é preciso lutar para ser feliz. Basta acreditar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;By: Rose&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/3661369050794886805-6334758246550261430?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/6334758246550261430/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=6334758246550261430' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/6334758246550261430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/6334758246550261430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/02/seguir-em-frente.html' title='Seguir em frente'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/R7C3En6C1jI/AAAAAAAAABg/gmYcR0g74mM/s72-c/arc_en_ciel.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-309717604833191973</id><published>2008-01-23T17:59:00.001Z</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:12:31.897Z</updated><title type='text'>Carta para o céu</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/R5eKNtc4tFI/AAAAAAAAABI/0M0RBr05wAM/s1600-h/Maos-34.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158743866319877202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/R5eKNtc4tFI/AAAAAAAAABI/0M0RBr05wAM/s400/Maos-34.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Não sei se devo escrever no Presente ou no Pretérito Imperfeito. Tenho saudades tuas, Mariana, cada dia que passa torna-se mais complicado de aguentar que o anterior. Custa acordar todos os dias e pensar que vais estar à porta da escola quando eu chegar...e quando chego, não te vejo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Tenho-me feito de forte, tenho tentado não chorar na frente da tua irmã e da tua turma mas às vezes não consigo conter as lágrimas. É mais forte do que eu...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Sinto falta do teu sorriso terno e sincero, das tuas mãos frias e suaves que acolhiam as minhas quando me sentia mais triste...mas o que me faz mesmo falta és tu...ouvir a tua voz a dizer-me «olá» e a tua companhia. E agora? Estou perdida. Eras a minha irmã do coração, aquela que me fazia sentir uma amiga especial...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Só espero que no céu, as coisas sejam mais simples do que aqui. Encontra a tua paz, a tua felicidade...Sê livre...e olha por mim...por todos nós.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Um abraço cheio de saudades,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;GPS&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/3661369050794886805-309717604833191973?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/309717604833191973/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=309717604833191973' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/309717604833191973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/309717604833191973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/01/carta-para-o-cu.html' title='Carta para o céu'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/R5eKNtc4tFI/AAAAAAAAABI/0M0RBr05wAM/s72-c/Maos-34.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-5644265999832149457</id><published>2008-01-13T18:17:00.001Z</published><updated>2008-10-20T21:16:15.004+01:00</updated><title type='text'>À tua procura</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Sonhei que era livre, que podia viver sem derramar mais nenhuma lágrima...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Acreditei que o mundo me fosse mostrar o meu lugar, a simplicidade da vida e a certeza que os sonhos se realizam quando são desejados de verdade. Acreditei que a felicidade se encontra ao nosso lado e o amor, dentro de cada um de nós. Acreditei que a liberdade não é conquistada nem ganha, mas sim encontrada. Acreditei que o meu sonho era o teu...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Que a minha liberdade seria a tua...&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/3661369050794886805-5644265999832149457?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/5644265999832149457/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=5644265999832149457' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/5644265999832149457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/5644265999832149457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2008/01/tua-procura.html' title='À tua procura'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3661369050794886805.post-7548377384457573391</id><published>2007-12-19T09:28:00.002Z</published><updated>2008-10-20T21:16:59.414+01:00</updated><title type='text'>...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Não sei o que a vida tem para mim. Apercebi-me de que tudo pode mudar num segundo, tudo mesmo. Tentei dizer isto da maneira mais suave possível mas a verdade é que estou magoada... a culpa não é tua, mas também não é minha. Eu não pedi para te amar, mas algo mais forte que a minha vontade simplesmente decidiu isso por mim. Não sinto que te amo em vão, nem algo parecido, sei que aconteça o que acontecer a minha vida será diferente, melhor ou pior não sei, talvez amarga e cheia de espaços vazios no meu coração, espaços esses provocados pelos meus sonhos que caíram da minha alma como lágrimas...talvez feliz e eterna, onde possa encontrar a minha liberdade. Esta é a vida que eu sonhei que passaria contigo, a vida que o meu coração constrói todos os dias com a esperança que nele habita. É esta esperança que me mantém viva, que me permite continuar a aguentar a dor e que me ajudou a viver com a saudade. Não sei o que te dizer, não sei se conheces a pureza e a força do meu coração, não sei se algum dia farei parte da tua vida. Amar-te foi o que me fez encontrar uma razão para estar aqui e enlear o meu mundo no teu.&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/3661369050794886805-7548377384457573391?l=theaquarelle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/feeds/7548377384457573391/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3661369050794886805&amp;postID=7548377384457573391' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/7548377384457573391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3661369050794886805/posts/default/7548377384457573391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theaquarelle.blogspot.com/2007/12/blog-post.html' title='...'/><author><name>Rosélia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07249285797958474353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1bazQmppag8/THbQvSia7nI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/82P9ufuZC9Y/S220/IMG_1324.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
