<?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:blogger='http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008' 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-6554739411924544276</id><updated>2024-08-28T06:45:32.579-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Cartas Mal Recicladas</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default?redirect=false'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>140</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-5677779194575503475</id><published>2023-05-04T13:22:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2023-05-04T13:22:58.719-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Aquela Velha Sensação </title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9Vml6JyUJ7zJE9iTGuDeoZhTPU8DnlBKxVnSM8tLheILuQ8fA4X6h0qdpaezL8mfdkUGpcCo9qYBzQqWDNHTnZZsPbo43z84IhlGmkDID0inlEQXwgZiwglqCbyvZ99uBz55LGLI1l7hzBkVfedfgBdi9WjE6StDH3dmT0tWW-JTw0kfAVheW_qA7Tw&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img data-original-height=&quot;2080&quot; data-original-width=&quot;1170&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9Vml6JyUJ7zJE9iTGuDeoZhTPU8DnlBKxVnSM8tLheILuQ8fA4X6h0qdpaezL8mfdkUGpcCo9qYBzQqWDNHTnZZsPbo43z84IhlGmkDID0inlEQXwgZiwglqCbyvZ99uBz55LGLI1l7hzBkVfedfgBdi9WjE6StDH3dmT0tWW-JTw0kfAVheW_qA7Tw=w180-h320&quot; width=&quot;180&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Eu me peço tanto, me suplico... Só um tempo, talvez um ano... Não deve ser difícil, tanta gente consegue... É só não cogitar, só não olhar, não pensar... É só não conversar, não conhecer, não se deixar envolver... É só não sentir. Não imaginar, não querer, não desejar... É bem simples, é só não respirar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/5677779194575503475/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2023/05/aquela-velha-sensacao.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/5677779194575503475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/5677779194575503475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2023/05/aquela-velha-sensacao.html' title='Aquela Velha Sensação '/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9Vml6JyUJ7zJE9iTGuDeoZhTPU8DnlBKxVnSM8tLheILuQ8fA4X6h0qdpaezL8mfdkUGpcCo9qYBzQqWDNHTnZZsPbo43z84IhlGmkDID0inlEQXwgZiwglqCbyvZ99uBz55LGLI1l7hzBkVfedfgBdi9WjE6StDH3dmT0tWW-JTw0kfAVheW_qA7Tw=s72-w180-h320-c" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-3339933589848952748</id><published>2020-08-30T17:46:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2020-08-30T17:46:59.037-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Tudo Muda, Mas Sempre Fica Alguma Coisa.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl4239PjuD8uBnPNpJ68f0HutTbCHUcrDEwHdqqVqBRR14KleUu8pIpBcBA4whkrANGKpLaZ6qWt1ebnVY497p8Po50z-G12SaCIKOIMlo95Qkxk_s-9oxcj473y6q9yWvl2dIRHiDaDOW/s1024/WhatsApp+Image+2020-08-30+at+13.58.18.jpeg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; data-original-height=&quot;1024&quot; data-original-width=&quot;717&quot; height=&quot;400&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl4239PjuD8uBnPNpJ68f0HutTbCHUcrDEwHdqqVqBRR14KleUu8pIpBcBA4whkrANGKpLaZ6qWt1ebnVY497p8Po50z-G12SaCIKOIMlo95Qkxk_s-9oxcj473y6q9yWvl2dIRHiDaDOW/w280-h400/WhatsApp+Image+2020-08-30+at+13.58.18.jpeg&quot; width=&quot;280&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot;&gt;Sempre muda tudo... Muda o estado (de espírito); Muda a cidade; Muda o serviço; Muda a profissão; Muda a casa; Muda a casa de novo; e de novo; Muda o carro; Muda a vestimenta; Muda os óculos; Muda o cabelo; Muda a rotina; Mudam os hábitos; Mudam os interesses; Mudam as crenças; Mudam os medos;&amp;nbsp;Mudam as vontades; Mudam as coragens; Mudam os planos... Tudo sempre muda.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mas sempre fica... Ficam as fotos; Ficam as cartas; Ficam os cds; Ficam os livros; Ficam os textos; Ficam as palavras; Ficam as declarações; Ficam as respostas; Ficam os pensamentos; Fica a memória do cheiro; Ficam tantas memórias; Fica o que fizemos; Fica o que deixamos de fazer; Ficam os planos desfeitos; Fica a saudade repentina; Fica a aceitação; Ficam as lembranças... Sempre fica alguma coisa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/3339933589848952748/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2020/08/tudo-muda-mas-sempre-fica-alguma-coisa.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/3339933589848952748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/3339933589848952748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2020/08/tudo-muda-mas-sempre-fica-alguma-coisa.html' title='Tudo Muda, Mas Sempre Fica Alguma Coisa.'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl4239PjuD8uBnPNpJ68f0HutTbCHUcrDEwHdqqVqBRR14KleUu8pIpBcBA4whkrANGKpLaZ6qWt1ebnVY497p8Po50z-G12SaCIKOIMlo95Qkxk_s-9oxcj473y6q9yWvl2dIRHiDaDOW/s72-w280-h400-c/WhatsApp+Image+2020-08-30+at+13.58.18.jpeg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-3509496321709450357</id><published>2017-04-16T23:41:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2017-04-16T23:42:30.330-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Sobre Lembrar</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhueMG2anEFQwjSOA78dzvg-IxJHsUq6dyNj3OLsJ1-j_AsT3W2CtCWYhoPeBZY1ck2OIK7LtI_OOIMhk6GrEdTUisZQv3r4tX32jQGuj-x9Wfvwrv5tuypqGH_eZ0uhIresybAGotDqZL5/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2017-04-16+at+23.31.16.jpeg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;400&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhueMG2anEFQwjSOA78dzvg-IxJHsUq6dyNj3OLsJ1-j_AsT3W2CtCWYhoPeBZY1ck2OIK7LtI_OOIMhk6GrEdTUisZQv3r4tX32jQGuj-x9Wfvwrv5tuypqGH_eZ0uhIresybAGotDqZL5/s400/WhatsApp+Image+2017-04-16+at+23.31.16.jpeg&quot; width=&quot;225&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Tem dia que é pouco&lt;br /&gt;
Tem dia que é muito&lt;br /&gt;
Tem dia que é quase nada&lt;br /&gt;
Tem dia que é o dia todo&lt;br /&gt;
Tem dia que faz bem&lt;br /&gt;
Tem dia que não faz&lt;br /&gt;
Tem dia que dói&lt;br /&gt;
Tem dia que também dói&lt;br /&gt;
Ontem teve, hoje tem,&lt;br /&gt;
Amanhã também terá&lt;br /&gt;
Todo dia é dia de lembrar&lt;br /&gt;
Todo dia eu insisto em me maltratar&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Mas se um dia, quem sabe, isso cessar&lt;br /&gt;
Vai ser o dia mais feliz da minha vida&lt;br /&gt;
E eu vou comemorar te ligando pra contar&lt;br /&gt;
Que eu consegui te esquecer&lt;br /&gt;
Que eu consegui não pensar</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/3509496321709450357/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2017/04/sobre-esquecer.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/3509496321709450357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/3509496321709450357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2017/04/sobre-esquecer.html' title='Sobre Lembrar'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhueMG2anEFQwjSOA78dzvg-IxJHsUq6dyNj3OLsJ1-j_AsT3W2CtCWYhoPeBZY1ck2OIK7LtI_OOIMhk6GrEdTUisZQv3r4tX32jQGuj-x9Wfvwrv5tuypqGH_eZ0uhIresybAGotDqZL5/s72-c/WhatsApp+Image+2017-04-16+at+23.31.16.jpeg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-6793255544807330198</id><published>2017-04-04T23:37:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2017-04-04T23:37:35.106-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Não era pra ser...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH29UCyvOZGuvVWUzxkaOffxN8ytodhTgsva9oArqns8Rp6NrK25AIoUqkUjbFVSIlECBxu-JSfAy2610lIeOIGbkJfkcXVW1Jpur3PQ6TeOFIcH_VpzPeDOY6seAPufwD3RrROP0buDph/s1600/IMG_9109.JPG&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;400&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH29UCyvOZGuvVWUzxkaOffxN8ytodhTgsva9oArqns8Rp6NrK25AIoUqkUjbFVSIlECBxu-JSfAy2610lIeOIGbkJfkcXVW1Jpur3PQ6TeOFIcH_VpzPeDOY6seAPufwD3RrROP0buDph/s400/IMG_9109.JPG&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: right;&quot;&gt;
... Aceita.&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/6793255544807330198/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2017/04/nao-era-pra-ser.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/6793255544807330198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/6793255544807330198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2017/04/nao-era-pra-ser.html' title='Não era pra ser...'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH29UCyvOZGuvVWUzxkaOffxN8ytodhTgsva9oArqns8Rp6NrK25AIoUqkUjbFVSIlECBxu-JSfAy2610lIeOIGbkJfkcXVW1Jpur3PQ6TeOFIcH_VpzPeDOY6seAPufwD3RrROP0buDph/s72-c/IMG_9109.JPG" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-8963890273758053039</id><published>2017-03-06T23:14:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2017-03-06T23:14:21.856-03:00</updated><title type='text'>2%</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
Nós somos raridade, somos aquele pequeno detalhe que faz
toda a diferença.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
Somos a margem da humanidade, aberrações, mutações, erros
genéticos.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
Temos “defeitos” que enaltecem a beleza do exótico,&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
aguçando
desejos, causando inveja, virando fetiches.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
Fomos um encontro desses que só acontece uma vez na vida,&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
uma afinidade como a probabilidade mínima de existir, um raio que só cai uma
vez. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
Fazemos estrago com pouco, não precisamos de mais.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
Não somos
mais, apenas especiais. Poucos, raros e belos. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw38Hb4aTR1gm97ZYzVzXqFtSjhAaj3husQbCJ5dnqq4YmoJWPM7xefLa4mZBqdAl3LVNRIUVKcQNXlXo1slblJto247fd4GTVuLGbX32Lu-ZcSELoNIV5eNq7dwcrASzn7zg_k3djZjgD/s1600/34259240-a85b-439f-9050-c5084e0d35d1.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw38Hb4aTR1gm97ZYzVzXqFtSjhAaj3husQbCJ5dnqq4YmoJWPM7xefLa4mZBqdAl3LVNRIUVKcQNXlXo1slblJto247fd4GTVuLGbX32Lu-ZcSELoNIV5eNq7dwcrASzn7zg_k3djZjgD/s320/34259240-a85b-439f-9050-c5084e0d35d1.jpg&quot; width=&quot;319&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
E juntos, enquanto essa estimativa permitir.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/8963890273758053039/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2017/03/2.html#comment-form' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/8963890273758053039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/8963890273758053039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2017/03/2.html' title='2%'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw38Hb4aTR1gm97ZYzVzXqFtSjhAaj3husQbCJ5dnqq4YmoJWPM7xefLa4mZBqdAl3LVNRIUVKcQNXlXo1slblJto247fd4GTVuLGbX32Lu-ZcSELoNIV5eNq7dwcrASzn7zg_k3djZjgD/s72-c/34259240-a85b-439f-9050-c5084e0d35d1.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-532174564835315725</id><published>2017-02-23T00:03:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2017-02-23T00:03:26.340-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Alforria</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;
A liberdade custa caro, e eu tô pagando um dobrado pela minha. Na liberdade de deixar ir, pensei que se voltasse seria meu... não voltou, esse amor nunca foi meu. Talvez nunca tenha sido amor. Liberdade é poder sentir o que quiser e principalmente o que não se quer sentir. Liberdade é querer estar sem precisar, só pelo simples fato de querer ficar ali. Liberdade também é não querer estar e eu não estou. Eu estou livre. Sou, eu sei que sou, pelo menos eu preciso acreditar nessa premissa. Nessa liberdade que me fere. Quisera eu que ela rasgasse somente a minha pele, feito tatuagem. Minha liberdade é cicatriz, que vez ou outra volta a ser ferida que se abre e sangra. Minha liberdade dói, pois sendo livre deixo minha prisão aberta. E eu aprendi a viver nessa prisão, me apeguei a ilusão do conforto-nem-tão-confortável-assim. Eu estava cega, e ainda não consegui enxergar a luz do mundo que me cerca, mas não leva tempo até a minha vista se adaptar. Às vezes me sinto livre, é nisso que devo acreditar, me agarrar, me ater. Liberdade não se ganha, não se compra, se conquista, se escolhe ter ou não ter. Eu tenho a minha, devidamente assinada como numa carta de alforria.&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHC0SqIhyphenhyphengxzCbwZvKIxHY_lHCZjvRiGOdSW-k4Qquw9SY4yL-cY5ajBjI6DCZ9QJ2ZZyxONNMT3ibcgrTwA1qxW31ZFhxKw9IlOHm0M0RkAUHm05ZsmhkUl2Uu_ylBWadLnUhibzK_x3W/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2017-02-22+at+23.41.17.jpeg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;221&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHC0SqIhyphenhyphengxzCbwZvKIxHY_lHCZjvRiGOdSW-k4Qquw9SY4yL-cY5ajBjI6DCZ9QJ2ZZyxONNMT3ibcgrTwA1qxW31ZFhxKw9IlOHm0M0RkAUHm05ZsmhkUl2Uu_ylBWadLnUhibzK_x3W/s400/WhatsApp+Image+2017-02-22+at+23.41.17.jpeg&quot; width=&quot;400&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/532174564835315725/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2017/02/alforria.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/532174564835315725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/532174564835315725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2017/02/alforria.html' title='Alforria'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHC0SqIhyphenhyphengxzCbwZvKIxHY_lHCZjvRiGOdSW-k4Qquw9SY4yL-cY5ajBjI6DCZ9QJ2ZZyxONNMT3ibcgrTwA1qxW31ZFhxKw9IlOHm0M0RkAUHm05ZsmhkUl2Uu_ylBWadLnUhibzK_x3W/s72-c/WhatsApp+Image+2017-02-22+at+23.41.17.jpeg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-2621865029985916949</id><published>2017-01-31T23:29:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2017-01-31T23:29:45.967-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Sobre o Gigante</title><content type='html'>- Outro dia desses eu li um monte de texto teu no blog&lt;br /&gt;
- Sério? Nunca mais eu escrevi.&lt;br /&gt;
- Por quê? Tu escreve tão bem.&lt;br /&gt;
- Sei lá... Não tenho mais inspiração, não sinto mais.&lt;br /&gt;
- Não precisa falar sobre sentimentos, escreve sobre outra coisa...&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFaV3hvtXr_cx6_WrGwSSPeMKFdkjt_TXmsN4aGYiVYOxpCLNnbxcMFAdDxLeVVKOBJtLgpfvEu3xzqtQFexgolu0gALjqsZiSgU9y_JGLrc8SYZ5THCY2ppxtwVD_xCxvMdgFJcOSgOKu/s1600/OTSZ4655%255B1%255D.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;244&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFaV3hvtXr_cx6_WrGwSSPeMKFdkjt_TXmsN4aGYiVYOxpCLNnbxcMFAdDxLeVVKOBJtLgpfvEu3xzqtQFexgolu0gALjqsZiSgU9y_JGLrc8SYZ5THCY2ppxtwVD_xCxvMdgFJcOSgOKu/s320/OTSZ4655%255B1%255D.jpg&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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Bom, eu não sei escrever sobre outra coisa, desculpa. Só sei falar sobre sentimentos, e olha que ironia, hoje, preciso falar sobre o meu, por ti. Achei lindo esse encontro &quot;do nada&quot;, essa conversa &quot;despretensiosa&quot;, aqueles abraços &quot;amigos&quot;. O teu olhar o mesmo de sempre, o teu sorriso um pouco diferente, o teu cheiro completamente outro. Eu lembro, quando éramos crianças que eu te achava o máximo, tu era melhor que eu em quase tudo, era mais forte, era mais alto, mais esperto... Hoje tu é maior, um gingante (risos da piada interna). O tempo passa e a gente acaba perdendo pessoas importantes que a gente jamais se imaginou sem. Eu nunca me imaginei sem ti, ainda não imagino. É bom saber que a gente tá mais perto, e de alguma maneira, mais próximos. Contigo eu tenho a liberdade de falar da minha vida totalmente aberta, contigo não tenho aquele receio de errar os pronomes (mais risos), contigo é diferente, sempre vai ser. Hoje, meu amor... eu só te desejo o que de melhor a vida pode te trazer, amor, paz, sorte. Eu sempre estarei aqui, independente do que aconteça, de quem aconteça. Eu sempre vou ser aquela garotinha com o cabelo amarrado no pitoche te esperando na calçada... sempre.&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/2621865029985916949/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2017/01/sobre-o-gigante.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/2621865029985916949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/2621865029985916949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2017/01/sobre-o-gigante.html' title='Sobre o Gigante'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFaV3hvtXr_cx6_WrGwSSPeMKFdkjt_TXmsN4aGYiVYOxpCLNnbxcMFAdDxLeVVKOBJtLgpfvEu3xzqtQFexgolu0gALjqsZiSgU9y_JGLrc8SYZ5THCY2ppxtwVD_xCxvMdgFJcOSgOKu/s72-c/OTSZ4655%255B1%255D.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-3575220342875091789</id><published>2016-12-06T22:59:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2016-12-06T22:59:45.547-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Criptografia</title><content type='html'>É incrível, não é? Como tu consegues entender o que eu tento não dizer no silêncio desse olhar.&amp;nbsp;&lt;div&gt;
É admirável essa percepção, quase uma ligação, uma conexão sem dados triviais.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
Só meus olhos te contando o que lá no fundo eu queria, e não poderia ou não deveria te falar.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
Essa conversa que, criptografada por detrás dessas lentes, só se desfaz aos teus sinais,&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj20kmyybks5O7EqJ1nIAzYvQj4_9Zet0aQnmA7bqJlydYxwKO6XPvjUMOcVetiWv_mjZg_JDYDlgHSyyu-FlrkAqy0P6lBMGNSAA3ZB1xaWCm1d8N9oM30hDjmyQDD5VddSvYjUwvYgs6H/s1600/15356558_1220159044731012_2212005309503752068_n.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;400&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj20kmyybks5O7EqJ1nIAzYvQj4_9Zet0aQnmA7bqJlydYxwKO6XPvjUMOcVetiWv_mjZg_JDYDlgHSyyu-FlrkAqy0P6lBMGNSAA3ZB1xaWCm1d8N9oM30hDjmyQDD5VddSvYjUwvYgs6H/s400/15356558_1220159044731012_2212005309503752068_n.jpg&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;text-align: start;&quot;&gt;que por sinal, aqui não se vê mais.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/3575220342875091789/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/12/criptografia.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/3575220342875091789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/3575220342875091789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/12/criptografia.html' title='Criptografia'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj20kmyybks5O7EqJ1nIAzYvQj4_9Zet0aQnmA7bqJlydYxwKO6XPvjUMOcVetiWv_mjZg_JDYDlgHSyyu-FlrkAqy0P6lBMGNSAA3ZB1xaWCm1d8N9oM30hDjmyQDD5VddSvYjUwvYgs6H/s72-c/15356558_1220159044731012_2212005309503752068_n.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-1391323962070307770</id><published>2016-10-02T23:16:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2016-10-02T23:16:35.459-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Do Escritor</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;
&quot;Se um escritor se apaixonar por você, você nunca morrerá&quot;... Agora... Se tu não pretendes ser eterno, não me iluda com promessas vagas que jamais se concretizarão, não me encante com esse teu sorriso perfeito e esses olhos fascinantes, não me seduza com teu jeito atraente e esse cabelo provocante... &amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
Se não for pra ter &#39;pra sempre&#39;, nem me venha com essa de &#39;era uma vez&#39;.&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAtXLVvHQC09DY7iFj4HPmMH5L6FTmNpcZ2SpXATKAU1m6A-nDwxPdoVD6YoGV6jrN4AIr0BAn7mxAC2ktSKl-WmoQDQGhMEF6bW7q50t-gSLFzSyxX1NfR-HDIi7NGJybgTjPNKhA7sh6/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2016-10-02+at+23.10.03.jpeg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;356&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAtXLVvHQC09DY7iFj4HPmMH5L6FTmNpcZ2SpXATKAU1m6A-nDwxPdoVD6YoGV6jrN4AIr0BAn7mxAC2ktSKl-WmoQDQGhMEF6bW7q50t-gSLFzSyxX1NfR-HDIi7NGJybgTjPNKhA7sh6/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2016-10-02+at+23.10.03.jpeg&quot; width=&quot;640&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/1391323962070307770/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/10/do-escritor.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/1391323962070307770'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/1391323962070307770'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/10/do-escritor.html' title='Do Escritor'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAtXLVvHQC09DY7iFj4HPmMH5L6FTmNpcZ2SpXATKAU1m6A-nDwxPdoVD6YoGV6jrN4AIr0BAn7mxAC2ktSKl-WmoQDQGhMEF6bW7q50t-gSLFzSyxX1NfR-HDIi7NGJybgTjPNKhA7sh6/s72-c/WhatsApp+Image+2016-10-02+at+23.10.03.jpeg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-4612231437345701382</id><published>2016-09-30T12:33:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2016-09-30T12:33:34.159-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Lembrete</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvdEAQG4E0BHOMH4kxcRUChh4Ge-XawqCqv8NWfaWpWhX8_o6J9tNbon3Q70Fj_-7q0WQmD3Exl8pkatdxddRe8XSMwzk0PZatVJZ7SZsDYYdsc8CvamzUUPbgZaBf7BhFH12JIwayfFp-/s1600/lembrete.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvdEAQG4E0BHOMH4kxcRUChh4Ge-XawqCqv8NWfaWpWhX8_o6J9tNbon3Q70Fj_-7q0WQmD3Exl8pkatdxddRe8XSMwzk0PZatVJZ7SZsDYYdsc8CvamzUUPbgZaBf7BhFH12JIwayfFp-/s320/lembrete.jpg&quot; width=&quot;240&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Quando a saudade&lt;br /&gt;
do futuro inexistente&lt;br /&gt;
não for suficiente&lt;br /&gt;
e as lembranças do passado&lt;br /&gt;
já ausente não forem o bastante...&lt;br /&gt;
Eu serei estas palavras&lt;br /&gt;
fitando teus olhos,&lt;br /&gt;
delirando tua mente,&lt;br /&gt;
embrulhando teu estômago,&lt;br /&gt;
acelerando teu coração.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/4612231437345701382/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/09/lembrete.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/4612231437345701382'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/4612231437345701382'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/09/lembrete.html' title='Lembrete'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvdEAQG4E0BHOMH4kxcRUChh4Ge-XawqCqv8NWfaWpWhX8_o6J9tNbon3Q70Fj_-7q0WQmD3Exl8pkatdxddRe8XSMwzk0PZatVJZ7SZsDYYdsc8CvamzUUPbgZaBf7BhFH12JIwayfFp-/s72-c/lembrete.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-7990202687347421685</id><published>2016-09-26T13:21:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2016-09-30T12:41:26.100-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Sem Sentido</title><content type='html'>Quando a ausência se faz presente,&lt;br /&gt;
a gente fico meio assim, saudosista...&lt;br /&gt;
Mas o melhor da ausência é a promessa do retorno.&lt;br /&gt;
E eu perdi a noção do tempo, do espaço.&lt;br /&gt;
Descobri em mim uma força que eu sequer sabia que tinha.&lt;br /&gt;
Ou talvez tenha deixado de lado a minha maior fraqueza,&lt;br /&gt;
em algum lugar por aqui esquecida.&lt;br /&gt;
Sob pena de morte ou prisão perpétua.&lt;br /&gt;
Não tenho feito muito sentido.&lt;br /&gt;
Nem questão, nem sentido.&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/7990202687347421685/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/09/sem-sentido.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/7990202687347421685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/7990202687347421685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/09/sem-sentido.html' title='Sem Sentido'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgab8UlFWeFjr-JdqYXIXk3P8l4W_uHhMquHaBIo4qOf71Q7CFHpIIEAyWGlLCPBqJ_YFRllx470I4Vp_9FEV0jwxXugTB4Wek9sfGgPds5H2RawlqiYNR0CUSeKXCDBj3clCz3ejl13stN/s72-c/sem+sentido.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-9115250830618254332</id><published>2016-04-25T14:22:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2016-10-02T23:24:36.937-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Coincidência ou Não</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;
Já não acredito mais em coincidências. Na verdade,
procuramos coisas em comum nas pessoas que nos interessam. Buscamos
características que só nós conhecemos, criamos algumas, retomamos outras, tudo
na intenção de ganhar, de conquistar, de seduzir. Perceber coincidências e
afinidades é muito fácil, difícil é quando encontramos o coletivo de
coincidências, e isso eu chamo isso de destino, só pode ser. As mesmas
escolhas, as mesmas percepções, a mesma história de vida, a mesma dor, o mesmo
sofrimento, o mesmo sentimento, a mesma vontade, o mesmo desejo. Tudo igual e
ao mesmo tempo tudo tão diferente, como a relatividade do tempo, quando um mês
pra alguns passa se arrastando, pra outros passa voando, e vai voar, levando
nesse voo toda essa história de coincidência e destino na malinha de mão do meu
coração.&lt;br /&gt;
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</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/9115250830618254332/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/04/coincidencia-ou-nao.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/9115250830618254332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/9115250830618254332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/04/coincidencia-ou-nao.html' title='Coincidência ou Não'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6OUzSCs13aSC7KLe0gBmNobGPKC-VqzeyLSR3u_r74enT2WuNI3XZxQA4tf3ruipcP6WeEFix8QUU1cmBmGMcUXR0-SSfC0aH3ecX5afUrB136srNtra7NxjFMoCUc5qHtYWc5vYIS3jS/s72-c/WhatsApp+Image+2016-10-02+at+23.23.27.jpeg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-5621622028652171659</id><published>2016-04-14T22:17:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2016-10-02T23:28:29.005-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Pela Metade</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
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Eu nunca fui perfeita. Infelizmente, nem chego perto disso. Mas em todo começo a conversa é mais envolvente, os assuntos mais leves, os olhares mais interessantes. A gente consegue mascarar alguns defeitos ao passo que as qualidades são potencializadas. Eu não fiz por mal quando te apresentei uma mulher feliz, extrovertida e segura de si, eu sou tudo isso, continuo sendo, mas com o tempo as falhas vão surgindo, e as fraquezas sendo reveladas. Eu tenho mil defeitos, mas não quero sê-los. Não vou ser rotina. Serei fins de semana, feriados, encontros marcados. Serei o imprevisível, o improvável, o impossível. Me queira, mas não espere nada. Não crie expectativas. Me queira pela metade.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
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Por inteiro, eu sou uma péssima escolha.&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/5621622028652171659/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/04/pela-metade.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/5621622028652171659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/5621622028652171659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/04/pela-metade.html' title='Pela Metade'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhYrU0yjRFFj5OD9WY2kvQTbqz4NZAxVYMBOKUdBA8Cx8gXQIBJ4Q0eKrC8o0YL4wV8vtqTIG_xzGPhNry6gc2OVZ5gMrmbKrx5plLKR3lrRrq_ZhZMaePHNXjXCV4mzoSUJyL7qNCJs3/s72-c/WhatsApp+Image+2016-10-02+at+23.27.27.jpeg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-8359588065250308792</id><published>2016-04-04T22:39:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2016-04-04T22:39:24.597-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Quando Acaba</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhalkAC1YlAqTW-W3X_fth3_6qpHB3RreHJ-at3m4r7lbCT6yg92CmeGL3HzAi7tQXFDU5lm8BdrUBEPhM-I0D9EGTJMOeylrldSGmqKTGVVp_-n3Hv718HRSBfF_dDWEmZr82S3_sBh0av/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;177&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhalkAC1YlAqTW-W3X_fth3_6qpHB3RreHJ-at3m4r7lbCT6yg92CmeGL3HzAi7tQXFDU5lm8BdrUBEPhM-I0D9EGTJMOeylrldSGmqKTGVVp_-n3Hv718HRSBfF_dDWEmZr82S3_sBh0av/s400/FullSizeRender.jpg&quot; width=&quot;400&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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O tempo é rei e te faz entender o que o coração desavisado não percebe. Com o tempo a chuva passa, as lágrimas secam, a memória enfraquece, o amor desaparece. Os dias passam voando, os meses desapercebidos, os anos não se contam mais. Quando vemos a vida já acabou e tudo que tínhamos planejado já não será possível... Quando acaba, não se contam mais os anos, nem meses, nem dias... Quando acaba.&lt;/div&gt;
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</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/8359588065250308792/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/04/quando-acaba.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/8359588065250308792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/8359588065250308792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/04/quando-acaba.html' title='Quando Acaba'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhalkAC1YlAqTW-W3X_fth3_6qpHB3RreHJ-at3m4r7lbCT6yg92CmeGL3HzAi7tQXFDU5lm8BdrUBEPhM-I0D9EGTJMOeylrldSGmqKTGVVp_-n3Hv718HRSBfF_dDWEmZr82S3_sBh0av/s72-c/FullSizeRender.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-8077942020455573092</id><published>2016-03-29T23:55:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2016-10-02T23:32:13.646-03:00</updated><title type='text'>À Pequena Grande Mulher</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;
Não importa o quanto eu tente falar, tu nunca vais me ouvir. Não adianta mostrar, desenhar, tu não vais absorver. Eu te conheço melhor que ninguém. Tu te achas madura demais, pensas que já viveu muitas experiências, que cresceu mais que a maioria da tua idade. Mas não é bem assim, tu não és melhor que os outros, nem mais inteligente, nem mais sagaz. Tua prepotência não será esquecida, e essas lembranças não te levarão a nada. Tua arrogância muitas vezes vai machucar quem diz que te ama, e isso vai ter consequências lá na frente, as piores por sinal.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj254AtUekPZSPWjutH0MrygF7vHb45__ffopRQPuD5ETVLBCYvPAnyt6pHbjKRI8iiF_-jOxt8cTDgy39GpObc7e3IhY9k5SjTDreQ7NJ4g_A3mCaTovrUSIXrdh-Yj7nTqBoO3oR7FoH6/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2016-10-02+at+23.31.11.jpeg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;400&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj254AtUekPZSPWjutH0MrygF7vHb45__ffopRQPuD5ETVLBCYvPAnyt6pHbjKRI8iiF_-jOxt8cTDgy39GpObc7e3IhY9k5SjTDreQ7NJ4g_A3mCaTovrUSIXrdh-Yj7nTqBoO3oR7FoH6/s400/WhatsApp+Image+2016-10-02+at+23.31.11.jpeg&quot; width=&quot;288&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Mas acredite tu não és de todo ruim, teu amor é grande e pode conquistar pessoas maravilhosas, histórias incríveis, mundos inteiros. Tua doação é incomum e não se encontra em toda esquina. Teu carinho, teu cuidado, teu afeto, é maravilhoso de se ver, por dentro ou de fora. Tudo em ti transborda, assim como teu sofrimento, teu apego, tua decepção, tua mágoa, então todo cuidado é pouco. Pense nisso, repense, melhore. Apesar disso tudo ter te tornado a mulher consciente e ainda imatura que eu sou hoje, ainda temos muito o que crescer.&lt;/div&gt;
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</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/8077942020455573092/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/03/a-pequena-grande-mulher.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/8077942020455573092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/8077942020455573092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/03/a-pequena-grande-mulher.html' title='À Pequena Grande Mulher'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj254AtUekPZSPWjutH0MrygF7vHb45__ffopRQPuD5ETVLBCYvPAnyt6pHbjKRI8iiF_-jOxt8cTDgy39GpObc7e3IhY9k5SjTDreQ7NJ4g_A3mCaTovrUSIXrdh-Yj7nTqBoO3oR7FoH6/s72-c/WhatsApp+Image+2016-10-02+at+23.31.11.jpeg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-8692284832048759336</id><published>2016-02-25T18:47:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2016-02-25T18:47:46.188-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Do Fim Até a Eternidade</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
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Era pra ser só uma conversa despretensiosa como tantas outras que tivemos, era pra tu teres descordado de cada palavra que eu cuspia desmedidamente e sem pensar, era pra ser só mais uma briga de fim de noite daquelas que eu tanto &#39;gostava&#39; como tu mesmo sempre encheu a boca pra jogar na minha cara, mas não foi nada disso. Eu não quis acreditar, não quis entender, mas algo dentro de mim, me fez permitir. Eu chorei toda água que habitava em meu corpo, ele desfaleceu, perdi o sono, não encontrava o ar. Vi o mundo desmoronar ao meu lado e o chão não conseguia me sustentar. Era tanta dor que eu, literalmente, gritei por socorro, eu não pudia mais viver, não sem ti.&lt;/div&gt;
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Eu sabia que seria assim, sempre te disse: &#39;Quando a gente terminar...&#39; E foi, durante uma semana que durou uns dez anos, então eu entendi, respeitei, estou tentando aceitar.&lt;/div&gt;
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Conversamos, discutimos, decidimos, não somos mais crianças, e nos entendemos como ninguém, ou não. Mas o fato é que estamos vivendo, lá e cá, como fomos por um bom tempo, como éramos, mas depois de nós, somos maiores, melhores, somos o que nos fizemos, nos construímos, nunca deixaremos de ser metade do nosso todo. Viveremos, caminharemos, cresceremos mais, acompanharemos, torceremos e nos aplaudiremos de longe. Saudaremos, sentiremos e seremos amores eternos enquanto durarmos nesta vida.&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/8692284832048759336/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/02/do-fim-ate-eternidade.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/8692284832048759336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/8692284832048759336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2016/02/do-fim-ate-eternidade.html' title='Do Fim Até a Eternidade'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb9ZdBBVtW4xrQtgw_mV8Fdzew6KEttE_0IJOZchgOMdG_wQ0u4z_yB-3p-rrVt6esw8Mldhto9iLgI093RXWHToOKmRVRaVhpm7AZ6QFJAKivz_7dYIEosoHjYjoRIsatBzkApe5dYGrv/s72-c/IMG-20160210-WA0001.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-660887412125719700</id><published>2013-12-09T16:47:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2013-12-09T16:47:42.817-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Par Perfeito</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;
Meus ouvidos atentos... Tua respiração recortada... Meus olhos descrentes... Teus olhos cerrados, eu sei... Minha boca aberta... Teu sussurro escapado... Meu coração acelerado... Teus pulsos atados... O mesmo ritmo, constantemente acelerado, acelerando, numa dança sem passos, mas de pausas marcantes, tão nítidas e firmes, rumando ao ápice da nossa orquestra, às notas mais agudas, mais altas, mais longas, mais esperadas... O reflexo, o resultado, a consequência dessa &quot;coisa&quot; que nos une e que eu não sei explicar o que é exatamente... E não importa, na dança do amor, tu és o meu espelho, meu par perfeito.&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwbZeVaU-BXIA5cMOA-V1-bB5T_jToIxGV9bE1CE2pDReYia4Btx4BbvozKcZhYzGtQnu1YWcdkix0gv9XkWbtVGhA9Sr3I5_99CkZuatiYfqO3TtSHK21TxShrJ9XjLDgMLhwkE39XjZ/s1600/2013-09-23-11-28-36.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwbZeVaU-BXIA5cMOA-V1-bB5T_jToIxGV9bE1CE2pDReYia4Btx4BbvozKcZhYzGtQnu1YWcdkix0gv9XkWbtVGhA9Sr3I5_99CkZuatiYfqO3TtSHK21TxShrJ9XjLDgMLhwkE39XjZ/s320/2013-09-23-11-28-36.jpg&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/660887412125719700/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/12/par-perfeito.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/660887412125719700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/660887412125719700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/12/par-perfeito.html' title='Par Perfeito'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwbZeVaU-BXIA5cMOA-V1-bB5T_jToIxGV9bE1CE2pDReYia4Btx4BbvozKcZhYzGtQnu1YWcdkix0gv9XkWbtVGhA9Sr3I5_99CkZuatiYfqO3TtSHK21TxShrJ9XjLDgMLhwkE39XjZ/s72-c/2013-09-23-11-28-36.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-8269862823982782997</id><published>2013-12-05T23:47:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2013-12-05T23:47:46.661-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Voltei</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
Voltei pra falar daquela saudade&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
que esmaga a carne e o coração&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
Voltei pelo desespero e espero&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
que acabe logo essa solidão&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
Voltei pelo simples fato&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
da falta do tato e da tua voz&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
Voltei por não ter a ti,&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
e só tendo a mim, não posso ser nós.&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh57CwhzYzJD8QiABCARXa6OYBM3E0QJsGqlQoFUo28ji-nsrnyTXWVFLUCiV3YQ4YB8mNPHnwWDmdsI9kWstTUsFJi_enQ0GgdZlAWdnr-KDAyJ0i8GhxZjNT885i0Fn8qEur_XrLTM2aB/s1600/2013-08-19-22-49-29.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh57CwhzYzJD8QiABCARXa6OYBM3E0QJsGqlQoFUo28ji-nsrnyTXWVFLUCiV3YQ4YB8mNPHnwWDmdsI9kWstTUsFJi_enQ0GgdZlAWdnr-KDAyJ0i8GhxZjNT885i0Fn8qEur_XrLTM2aB/s320/2013-08-19-22-49-29.jpg&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/8269862823982782997/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/12/voltei.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/8269862823982782997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/8269862823982782997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/12/voltei.html' title='Voltei'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh57CwhzYzJD8QiABCARXa6OYBM3E0QJsGqlQoFUo28ji-nsrnyTXWVFLUCiV3YQ4YB8mNPHnwWDmdsI9kWstTUsFJi_enQ0GgdZlAWdnr-KDAyJ0i8GhxZjNT885i0Fn8qEur_XrLTM2aB/s72-c/2013-08-19-22-49-29.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-2333278343534931681</id><published>2013-07-04T21:26:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2013-07-04T21:28:58.634-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Chega</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9lr16CI2D5RcUL62FWq8X06tnRlVfdbuyO45W7pTdFUkV-KV0J-3BPWw97y58xe8-cNyyFWW_PzTG233lyim4TDuC_128XjUpYidtjhb00tETlS8oP2MeG2ViOjov8s-UuTzo8M_Cq3Mm/s576/IMG_20130430_210700.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;400&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9lr16CI2D5RcUL62FWq8X06tnRlVfdbuyO45W7pTdFUkV-KV0J-3BPWw97y58xe8-cNyyFWW_PzTG233lyim4TDuC_128XjUpYidtjhb00tETlS8oP2MeG2ViOjov8s-UuTzo8M_Cq3Mm/s400/IMG_20130430_210700.jpg&quot; width=&quot;177&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Chega de falar de saudade,&lt;br /&gt;
Chega de sentir tanta vontade,&lt;br /&gt;
Chega da necessidade&lt;br /&gt;
Chegando sem piedade.&lt;br /&gt;
Chega cedo ou tarde,&lt;br /&gt;
Chega eternidade e se acon-&lt;br /&gt;
Chega em serenidade,&lt;br /&gt;
Chega de aperto,&lt;br /&gt;
Chega mais perto, mas&lt;br /&gt;
Chega logo.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/2333278343534931681/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/07/chega.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/2333278343534931681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/2333278343534931681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/07/chega.html' title='Chega'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9lr16CI2D5RcUL62FWq8X06tnRlVfdbuyO45W7pTdFUkV-KV0J-3BPWw97y58xe8-cNyyFWW_PzTG233lyim4TDuC_128XjUpYidtjhb00tETlS8oP2MeG2ViOjov8s-UuTzo8M_Cq3Mm/s72-c/IMG_20130430_210700.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-3477774708302385700</id><published>2013-05-27T21:15:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2013-05-27T21:15:20.787-03:00</updated><title type='text'>O que Eu (te) Quero</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZCnHg4sB7QR6ZDDJcDqhhAO_jTOhJo3dwh3m0IJ60LrfKkjq_Dr5J4-qIjgUBvo_J5cI6v2qTt-cn5JFG7k4AS3Gp0KsK6bH3dKI0HJ5cEOjHQkzrukEngWzkSx_PxTcUTSnJ25zaxs9/s1600/IMGP0837_20130522153806216.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZCnHg4sB7QR6ZDDJcDqhhAO_jTOhJo3dwh3m0IJ60LrfKkjq_Dr5J4-qIjgUBvo_J5cI6v2qTt-cn5JFG7k4AS3Gp0KsK6bH3dKI0HJ5cEOjHQkzrukEngWzkSx_PxTcUTSnJ25zaxs9/s320/IMGP0837_20130522153806216.jpg&quot; width=&quot;240&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Tu que tiveste a ousadia de perguntar o que eu queria... Ah, meu amor, eu quero esse sorriso quase faz serrar teus olhos, eu quero esse olhar que me tira a lucidez, eu quero tuas palavras sem meios, nem extremos, direto e perto. Eu quero o teu abraço, o teu beijo, o teu colo. Teu carinho, teus conselhos, teu cuidado. Eu te quero, e o teu amor, que é meu, por favor, é só o que eu te peço.&lt;/div&gt;
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&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/3477774708302385700/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/05/o-que-eu-te-quero.html#comment-form' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/3477774708302385700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/3477774708302385700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/05/o-que-eu-te-quero.html' title='O que Eu (te) Quero'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZCnHg4sB7QR6ZDDJcDqhhAO_jTOhJo3dwh3m0IJ60LrfKkjq_Dr5J4-qIjgUBvo_J5cI6v2qTt-cn5JFG7k4AS3Gp0KsK6bH3dKI0HJ5cEOjHQkzrukEngWzkSx_PxTcUTSnJ25zaxs9/s72-c/IMGP0837_20130522153806216.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-7050022105712918450</id><published>2013-05-27T20:50:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2013-05-27T20:50:49.090-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Junto&amp;Misturado</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFGEBjxAAjLGXdbTgnbyzHZG1o2pDQ-yNQbCnzIlLD54qF3WdEk3uen4NvrNbcglZAVt3t9ZOwxWT0EOHfoI44DbkyigqvqHvimfRFcL36C0PIdEUAzftP0odKSycb4-Aegrq2E6NH5x1f/s1600/IMG1172_20130517152351995.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;640&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFGEBjxAAjLGXdbTgnbyzHZG1o2pDQ-yNQbCnzIlLD54qF3WdEk3uen4NvrNbcglZAVt3t9ZOwxWT0EOHfoI44DbkyigqvqHvimfRFcL36C0PIdEUAzftP0odKSycb4-Aegrq2E6NH5x1f/s640/IMG1172_20130517152351995.jpg&quot; width=&quot;444&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/7050022105712918450/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/05/junto.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/7050022105712918450'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/7050022105712918450'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/05/junto.html' title='Junto&amp;Misturado'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFGEBjxAAjLGXdbTgnbyzHZG1o2pDQ-yNQbCnzIlLD54qF3WdEk3uen4NvrNbcglZAVt3t9ZOwxWT0EOHfoI44DbkyigqvqHvimfRFcL36C0PIdEUAzftP0odKSycb4-Aegrq2E6NH5x1f/s72-c/IMG1172_20130517152351995.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-6774771490074396472</id><published>2013-04-19T14:29:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2013-04-20T08:48:08.061-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Da Beleza do Sol</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;
De repente me bateu uma saudade daquele fim de tarde que não percebemos a noite chegar. Não sei ao certo se eram as cortinas, ou a luz da tv que estava ligada num som quase inaudível, ou se eram os teus traços que eu me atava na intenção decorá-los, o fato é que tudo dentro daquele quarto era mais importante e mais bonito que o sol a se pôr, ou um amanhecer, tanto fazia. Me bateu uma saudade tão grande que agora não me contento em ficar só, num quarto, com cortinas e tv soando inaudívelmente. Agora eu só quero ver o sol a se pôr, ou a nascer, só assim verei beleza parecida, com as que vi no 303.&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7_HDUGEt_9KNhcq1TZhKMyjNVuETm724jGPAZvMhVkgG_t4g80f0nEyhT0vMgedJp701NaGwgpbD4JYGZSgKnf75__P4uMILP79m9eWbWtHcyhSfBeDh1AdcV9Wfo55HdSSfu4gY0fQKO/s1600/IE130419001990.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt; &lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;265&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7_HDUGEt_9KNhcq1TZhKMyjNVuETm724jGPAZvMhVkgG_t4g80f0nEyhT0vMgedJp701NaGwgpbD4JYGZSgKnf75__P4uMILP79m9eWbWtHcyhSfBeDh1AdcV9Wfo55HdSSfu4gY0fQKO/s400/IE130419001990.jpg&quot; width=&quot;400&quot; /&gt; &lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/6774771490074396472/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/04/da-beleza-do-sol.html#comment-form' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/6774771490074396472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/6774771490074396472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/04/da-beleza-do-sol.html' title='Da Beleza do Sol'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7_HDUGEt_9KNhcq1TZhKMyjNVuETm724jGPAZvMhVkgG_t4g80f0nEyhT0vMgedJp701NaGwgpbD4JYGZSgKnf75__P4uMILP79m9eWbWtHcyhSfBeDh1AdcV9Wfo55HdSSfu4gY0fQKO/s72-c/IE130419001990.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-1760115546382905562</id><published>2013-04-16T22:07:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2013-04-16T22:07:16.332-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Da Angústia</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;
Tu não sabes da angústia que se sente por estar do outro lado da linha telefônica, tu não sabes o que é querer e não poder dar ao menos um abraço, tu não sabes como é não ter como fazer uma surpresa, não dar um presente. Tu não entendes o que eu sinto por não saber por onde tu andas, quando a minha vontade era ta do teu lado. Tu não compreendes a minha dor de não estar aí e te dizer, sem intermédio de qualquer dessas tecnologias ridículas que ainda nos sustentam longe, o quanto eu almejo o teu sucesso, que eu te amo e que eu te darei muitos e muitos anos de felicidade, e cuidarei para que tenhas saúde e todas essas baboseiras que se deseja. E assim te daria um abraço, aquele que me faz sentir segura, acolhida, cuidada, e te faria sentir o mesmo...&lt;/div&gt;
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Tu não sabes da minha angústia, ela é ruim, e nem hoje, nem nunca, te desejaria algo assim.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/1760115546382905562/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/04/da-angustia.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/1760115546382905562'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/1760115546382905562'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/04/da-angustia.html' title='Da Angústia'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGozMMOuK6qHfiT5nQZxlcXlNj3BGzUXWy62JCm87KFs-Drmyddz8MBYyajpkg05LRqcpR-DBgbnosJm0Yn1VqejvP9DKoNSMBDXAsTQBkE61wwwTCGNBWsm2-_IhmzuTgUe6RcGJjSCp3/s72-c/DSC0000007.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-3929122230459724631</id><published>2013-04-04T13:27:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2013-04-04T18:47:14.951-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Anos de Idade</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
Curiosidade; Criatividade; Singularidade; Diversidade; Habilidade; Intimidade; Qualidade; Representatividade; Maturidade; Fidelidade; Reciprocidade; Cumplicidade; Veracidade; Eternidade... Entre essas e outras, nos desejo muita felicidade.&lt;br /&gt;
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</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/3929122230459724631/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/04/anos-de-idade.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/3929122230459724631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/3929122230459724631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/04/anos-de-idade.html' title='Anos de Idade'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2LZogHVVSpRhUFxjQljmk87RuDE9B29Nofev_yuhJv7TdlQbzopFOrfN8xJGgaKRr61jeICRn7PFl2sqYn6PVYG_iDc-fbaIDv04OvUunANGFwVcd4MnHbgEWeRTVnRqaJRhRZ010-lfa/s72-c/imagem.JPG" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554739411924544276.post-7801256609079373600</id><published>2013-02-20T20:58:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2013-02-20T21:01:16.340-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Porta-Retrato</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ7VNzG3ySOYd6ENbXW5xVr07C3hCgs95A2RDwEajhQ3M7SHfXkH3xL0WLcZHIQ5R4vp5cbddkAeaAmP6-JR-qdpkxJvy91Rw2tTZnPhZYN-K6QZk0u-1Yok35t2YC5zc7ok11rdkWd5XD/s1600/IMG350.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;300&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ7VNzG3ySOYd6ENbXW5xVr07C3hCgs95A2RDwEajhQ3M7SHfXkH3xL0WLcZHIQ5R4vp5cbddkAeaAmP6-JR-qdpkxJvy91Rw2tTZnPhZYN-K6QZk0u-1Yok35t2YC5zc7ok11rdkWd5XD/s400/IMG350.jpg&quot; width=&quot;400&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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Em um momento em que nossa imagem transparece assim, em molduras claras e simples, expostas na parede da memória que nos habita, uma felicidade compartilhada a miúde, invisível a olhos alheios. Nossas lembranças guardadas no espelho, no reflexo do brilho dos meus olhos quando te vejo, a magia e o fruto do recomeço. É assim que me sinto, atada a cada milésimo de segundo ao teu lado, a cada detalhe dos teus atos, a cada pontada de sentimento meu, entregues, todos, teus. Não sou nada aos olhos do mundo, mas em ti sou só tudo.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/feeds/7801256609079373600/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/02/porta-retrato.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/7801256609079373600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6554739411924544276/posts/default/7801256609079373600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cartasmalrecicladas.blogspot.com/2013/02/porta-retrato.html' title='Porta-Retrato'/><author><name>Lorena Marques</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02073022444912086340</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ7VNzG3ySOYd6ENbXW5xVr07C3hCgs95A2RDwEajhQ3M7SHfXkH3xL0WLcZHIQ5R4vp5cbddkAeaAmP6-JR-qdpkxJvy91Rw2tTZnPhZYN-K6QZk0u-1Yok35t2YC5zc7ok11rdkWd5XD/s72-c/IMG350.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>