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&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"(...) Hoje eu vou ficar com você&lt;br /&gt;Hoje até amanhecer&lt;br /&gt;Um amor prá toda vida&lt;br /&gt;Uma grande afeição (...)"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;* Porque "hoje", a felicidade me domina.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;Edição: Marcio Mello.&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/6986086381207719974-8032988654465700426?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/npT5uxoqepjCnktR-C4dMjgnjOU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/npT5uxoqepjCnktR-C4dMjgnjOU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/csSUdTRWTPs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/8032988654465700426/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=8032988654465700426&amp;isPopup=true" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/8032988654465700426?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/8032988654465700426?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/csSUdTRWTPs/blog-post.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2011/06/blog-post.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEMAR3w-eip7ImA9WhZUGE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-2999021199057091326</id><published>2011-06-11T20:42:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2011-06-11T20:54:06.252-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-11T20:54:06.252-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gF5C_asQlxs/TfP9euIIdJI/AAAAAAAAD18/PiG8xXNg-YU/s1600/%2B240.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 193px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gF5C_asQlxs/TfP9euIIdJI/AAAAAAAAD18/PiG8xXNg-YU/s320/%2B240.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617111864481182866" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Amanhã!&lt;br /&gt;Será um lindo dia&lt;br /&gt;Da mais louca alegria&lt;br /&gt;Que se possa imaginar&lt;br /&gt;(...)"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;* "Amanhã", por inteiro, fala muito do hoje.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;Foto: Marconi Félix.&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/6986086381207719974-2999021199057091326?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_i4hvCW5Jez0NbE0uCLIwTK7aLo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_i4hvCW5Jez0NbE0uCLIwTK7aLo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_i4hvCW5Jez0NbE0uCLIwTK7aLo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_i4hvCW5Jez0NbE0uCLIwTK7aLo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/CfrRD_jTlHM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/2999021199057091326/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=2999021199057091326&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/2999021199057091326?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/2999021199057091326?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/CfrRD_jTlHM/amanha-sera-um-lindo-dia-da-mais-louca.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gF5C_asQlxs/TfP9euIIdJI/AAAAAAAAD18/PiG8xXNg-YU/s72-c/%2B240.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2011/06/amanha-sera-um-lindo-dia-da-mais-louca.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkYFRXkyfCp7ImA9WhZWEU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-91398518674264252</id><published>2011-05-11T11:02:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2011-05-11T13:08:34.794-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-11T13:08:34.794-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xzvSiUmZjW8/TcqXVLiG4WI/AAAAAAAAD0w/-93A-S_sh0k/s1600/099.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xzvSiUmZjW8/TcqXVLiG4WI/AAAAAAAAD0w/-93A-S_sh0k/s320/099.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605459076344897890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;... porque poucos ainda sorriem e olham nos olhos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;* Faltam apenas 31 dias, pra que eu possa te olhar assim todas as manhãs.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;Foto: Marconi Félix.&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/6986086381207719974-91398518674264252?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/CzD4XXaoVOsJ6gZOEp_ln_IF-_E/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/CzD4XXaoVOsJ6gZOEp_ln_IF-_E/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/BkyYVQkHvoI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/4060387534354955471/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=4060387534354955471&amp;isPopup=true" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/4060387534354955471?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/4060387534354955471?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/BkyYVQkHvoI/blog-post.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M-g0HCvlEkY/TViQQC_LKPI/AAAAAAAADhs/nDq4POhmfO0/s72-c/_DSC00885.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2011/02/blog-post.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEMCRn04cSp7ImA9Wx9SE0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-8107606592358619026</id><published>2010-12-02T22:59:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2010-12-02T23:14:27.339-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-12-02T23:14:27.339-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/TPhSB8ang0I/AAAAAAAAChI/pfZAJv_Whn8/s1600/_DSC02596.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/TPhSB8ang0I/AAAAAAAAChI/pfZAJv_Whn8/s320/_DSC02596.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546273134457881410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;... porque o sol e o amor, andam lado a lado.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;Foto: Lívia Dias.&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/6986086381207719974-8107606592358619026?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/m9RwtHDQYKTYiwHWVB7BAL5VbvQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/m9RwtHDQYKTYiwHWVB7BAL5VbvQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/7TcLOa9u1-o" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/8107606592358619026/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=8107606592358619026&amp;isPopup=true" title="3 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/8107606592358619026?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/8107606592358619026?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/7TcLOa9u1-o/blog-post.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/TPhSB8ang0I/AAAAAAAAChI/pfZAJv_Whn8/s72-c/_DSC02596.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2010/12/blog-post.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkAFQH45fyp7ImA9Wx5QEko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-8016025338780667898</id><published>2010-08-31T09:08:00.007-03:00</published><updated>2010-08-31T13:05:11.027-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-31T13:05:11.027-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/TH0myPLil7I/AAAAAAAABHE/-oyFWtQN2lw/s1600/Picasa3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/TH0myPLil7I/AAAAAAAABHE/-oyFWtQN2lw/s320/Picasa3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511604163481606066" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Se existissem outras vidas depois desta, sei que ainda te amaria. Se  tivéssemos outras formas, outros nomes, ainda assim eu seria teu. Talvez  eu não pudesse falar,  meus olhos brilhariam por ti. Talvez meus pés  não soubessem o seu caminho, mas minha lembrança sempre te alcançaria.   Talvez minha vida só pudesse durar um segundo. Então, nesse único e  breve instante, extasiado e inundado por uma alegria plena, gritaria teu  nome num registro de existência.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;(Leometáfora)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Para Lívia.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;Foto-montagem: Marcio Mello&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6986086381207719974-8016025338780667898?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/w68JUtwx7ed_mNlJzTzVrimIzL4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/w68JUtwx7ed_mNlJzTzVrimIzL4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/rR-sbfxfMVc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/8016025338780667898/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=8016025338780667898&amp;isPopup=true" title="5 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/8016025338780667898?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/8016025338780667898?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/rR-sbfxfMVc/se-existissem-outras-vidas-depois-desta.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/TH0myPLil7I/AAAAAAAABHE/-oyFWtQN2lw/s72-c/Picasa3.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2010/08/se-existissem-outras-vidas-depois-desta.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0YHQ3c4cCp7ImA9WxFVGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-2453887594234928685</id><published>2010-06-19T21:54:00.009-03:00</published><updated>2010-06-19T22:58:52.938-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-06-19T22:58:52.938-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/TB1nV0PTq0I/AAAAAAAABE0/5CqC-O-6GQM/s1600/_DSC02837.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/TB1nV0PTq0I/AAAAAAAABE0/5CqC-O-6GQM/s320/_DSC02837.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484653545704893250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;O Nosso Amor&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;"O mais bonito do nosso amor é que a gente saberia muito bem viver um sem  o outro, mas optamos por estar juntos. Somos nós mesmos, de cara  lavada, defeitos e passos tortos. E escolhemos a felicidade. Juntos."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;(Michelle  Corazza)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;Esta frase pra mim, é uma das frases mais belas sobre a verdadeira mutualidade do amor  que já li.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Para Lívia.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;Foto: Ana Cecília Dias.&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/6986086381207719974-2453887594234928685?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rRJ94HmzEkztmHccxQUsDRFhj8k/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rRJ94HmzEkztmHccxQUsDRFhj8k/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/K7sWMfQCvzE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/2453887594234928685/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=2453887594234928685&amp;isPopup=true" title="6 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/2453887594234928685?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/2453887594234928685?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/K7sWMfQCvzE/o-nosso-amor-o-mais-bonito-do-nosso.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/TB1nV0PTq0I/AAAAAAAABE0/5CqC-O-6GQM/s72-c/_DSC02837.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2010/06/o-nosso-amor-o-mais-bonito-do-nosso.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEQFQX0-eyp7ImA9WxFSEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-7504470414214081516</id><published>2010-04-13T14:35:00.025-03:00</published><updated>2010-04-13T17:58:30.353-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-04-13T17:58:30.353-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/S8SsGygceXI/AAAAAAAABC0/H6ub3MeZZCE/s1600/DSC02586.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459677880916932978" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/S8SsGygceXI/AAAAAAAABC0/H6ub3MeZZCE/s320/DSC02586.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chega a ser assustadora a analogia de como o tempo é implacável com nossas decisões:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Algumas decisões me fizeram achar que tinha tudo,&lt;br /&gt;outras me fizeram acreditar que tinha perdido tudo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Algumas decisões me fizeram achar que eu nunca tive nada.&lt;br /&gt;Outras ainda, me fizeram achar que eu nunca poderia ter nada."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Minha última decisão foi esquecer essa tal analogia. Assim, tive tempo pra construir minha própria casa, como sempre quis. Pus nela todo meu amor em cada tijolo, em cada parede erguida. Separei também um espaço para o jardim. O jardim alegra a casa. Nele, tenho uma flor especial que cultivo todos os dias. Ela me devolve todo amor dedicado resistindo ao inverno mais rigoroso sem perder seu brilho único, intenso. A garagem é espaçosa, mas meu carro não está aqui, neste momento, está na estrada pronto pra partir... pro céu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(204,204,204)"&gt;Foto: Marcio Mello.&lt;/span&gt;&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/6986086381207719974-7504470414214081516?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wouYKJA0CB6pUGWdqbP8A4y7gnk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wouYKJA0CB6pUGWdqbP8A4y7gnk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/lIYWyXmngoE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/7504470414214081516/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=7504470414214081516&amp;isPopup=true" title="5 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/7504470414214081516?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/7504470414214081516?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/lIYWyXmngoE/chega-ser-assustadora-analogia-de-como.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/S8SsGygceXI/AAAAAAAABC0/H6ub3MeZZCE/s72-c/DSC02586.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2010/04/chega-ser-assustadora-analogia-de-como.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUFSHoyeip7ImA9WxBUEk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-4511108666869344703</id><published>2010-02-26T15:05:00.006-03:00</published><updated>2010-02-26T15:16:59.492-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-26T15:16:59.492-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/S4gOdKG1MII/AAAAAAAABCY/1XENkjBGNy4/s1600-h/Livia.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/S4gOdKG1MII/AAAAAAAABCY/1XENkjBGNy4/s320/Livia.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442616043769245826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Se você tem sonhos em seu coração compartilhe-os comigo.&lt;br /&gt;Se os sonhos não existirem, deixe-me torná-los reais.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se você tem alguma dor em seu coração, compartilhe-a comigo.&lt;br /&gt;E nós vamos esperar e ver o quão mais rápido ela vai passar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se você cair, não se preocupe.&lt;br /&gt;Eu estarei aqui pra te levantar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se você tem amor em seu coração, mantenha-o comigo.&lt;br /&gt;Não posso prometer um milagre, mas eu vou estar sempre ao seu lado - levando na bagagem  todos os sonhos do mundo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Para Lívia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;Foto: Marcio Mello.&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/6986086381207719974-4511108666869344703?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BT76v-_AkJPybTX6kuHZp4l5vjE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BT76v-_AkJPybTX6kuHZp4l5vjE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/WQdp-0kal4s" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/4511108666869344703/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=4511108666869344703&amp;isPopup=true" title="13 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/4511108666869344703?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/4511108666869344703?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/WQdp-0kal4s/se-voce-tem-sonhos-em-seu-coracao.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/S4gOdKG1MII/AAAAAAAABCY/1XENkjBGNy4/s72-c/Livia.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>13</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2010/02/se-voce-tem-sonhos-em-seu-coracao.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C08NSHw8cCp7ImA9WxBQGU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-3391270207991300492</id><published>2010-01-18T09:01:00.015-03:00</published><updated>2010-01-19T17:11:39.278-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-01-19T17:11:39.278-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/S1RT0gUe5MI/AAAAAAAAAwQ/ja2weiK7J3U/s1600-h/DSC01174_.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428055612382438594" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/S1RT0gUe5MI/AAAAAAAAAwQ/ja2weiK7J3U/s320/DSC01174_.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;Quando ele caminhava pela longa estrada, pensava sobre todos os erros cometidos pelo seu coração e sua alma.&lt;br /&gt;Seu corpo já cansado doía como ferro quente na carne fria.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quando ele caminhava pela longa estrada, os fardos em sua alma surgiram, então ele pedia que Deus o desse ombros mais fortes e não para que diminuísse os fardos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sua sabedoria sempre o mostrou que Deus não escolhe os capacitados, Ele capacita os escolhidos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;Foto: Marcio Mello.&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/6986086381207719974-3391270207991300492?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IPSpueRJExB2jwgilrl3nKmAqDk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IPSpueRJExB2jwgilrl3nKmAqDk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/73_itUBkEus" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/3391270207991300492/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=3391270207991300492&amp;isPopup=true" title="8 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/3391270207991300492?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/3391270207991300492?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/73_itUBkEus/quando-ele-caminhava-pela-longa-estrada.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/S1RT0gUe5MI/AAAAAAAAAwQ/ja2weiK7J3U/s72-c/DSC01174_.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>8</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2010/01/quando-ele-caminhava-pela-longa-estrada.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEUNR3Y7fSp7ImA9WxBSFU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-5200887452127523165</id><published>2009-12-22T20:21:00.009-03:00</published><updated>2009-12-22T20:58:16.805-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-12-22T20:58:16.805-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SzFUhegG09I/AAAAAAAAAvU/bip1zdZydYI/s1600-h/DSC00604.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SzFUhegG09I/AAAAAAAAAvU/bip1zdZydYI/s320/DSC00604.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418204760803562450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;E lá estavam eles mais uma vez, caminhando, incessantes.  Sem receio da chuva de medos ou do mar de perdas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Para eles, o fato de caminhar dessa forma era incomum, mas hoje isso os acalentava, os encantava.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eles caminham para não mais verem a vida passar, mas para passarem por ela, de mãos dadas.&lt;br /&gt;Eles caminham para que a poeira da negatividade não os condenem a passar tanto tempo observando a vida em desalinho.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E assim, vão caminhando, criando seus destinos e controlando sua forma e tempo de caminhar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Na verdade, eles tinham como segredo o seu coração puro, que sempre os guiou a caminhos inspiradamente moldados,  pelas mãos de Deus.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Foto: Marcio Mello.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6986086381207719974-5200887452127523165?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/fkofCucd1OdHc7MB9LdI6XmgO0E/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/fkofCucd1OdHc7MB9LdI6XmgO0E/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/sJYA8Z7tcoY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/5200887452127523165/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=5200887452127523165&amp;isPopup=true" title="10 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/5200887452127523165?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/5200887452127523165?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/sJYA8Z7tcoY/e-la-estavam-eles-mais-uma-vez.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SzFUhegG09I/AAAAAAAAAvU/bip1zdZydYI/s72-c/DSC00604.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>10</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2009/12/e-la-estavam-eles-mais-uma-vez.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE4BRHg-fip7ImA9WxNUFU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-932505990132548002</id><published>2009-11-06T13:51:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T14:02:35.656-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-11-06T14:02:35.656-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SvRUN-WFxKI/AAAAAAAAAt8/mB3tL4vNAvk/s1600-h/82.DSC01410.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SvRUN-WFxKI/AAAAAAAAAt8/mB3tL4vNAvk/s320/82.DSC01410.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401034452174750882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ontem eu descobri,&lt;br /&gt;que posso ser feliz&lt;br /&gt;o tempo que quiser.&lt;br /&gt;Basta conectar minh'alma,&lt;br /&gt;em um único lugar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deus não me deve nada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Foto: Hélio Zenith.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6986086381207719974-932505990132548002?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7ImHSd8TgDtOn1ayooRUFhx9qDI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7ImHSd8TgDtOn1ayooRUFhx9qDI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/u-AuQrd6Sxg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/932505990132548002/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=932505990132548002&amp;isPopup=true" title="17 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/932505990132548002?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/932505990132548002?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/u-AuQrd6Sxg/ontem-eu-descobri-que-posso-ser-feliz-o.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SvRUN-WFxKI/AAAAAAAAAt8/mB3tL4vNAvk/s72-c/82.DSC01410.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>17</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2009/11/ontem-eu-descobri-que-posso-ser-feliz-o.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QGRno8fSp7ImA9WxNWEU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-1112066085805241324</id><published>2009-10-09T13:42:00.009-03:00</published><updated>2009-10-09T14:28:47.475-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-09T14:28:47.475-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/Ss9oKOEonyI/AAAAAAAAAto/oKlqS09j0Bo/s1600-h/100_7614.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 231px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/Ss9oKOEonyI/AAAAAAAAAto/oKlqS09j0Bo/s320/100_7614.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390641803771289378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Naquela tarde, o céu cinzento se abriu e sobre mim caiu uma chuva de pedras. No meu quarto, um velho guarda-chuva tentava amenizar a dor que cada pedra causava. Ao tentar sair do quarto, percebi que atravessar a sala não seria uma tarefa nada fácil (lá a chuva era mais intensa e o velho guarda-chuva já dava sinais de não suportar tanta voracidade).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mesmo com os braços e pernas levemente dormentes, caminhei e aos poucos fui percebendo que a chuva de pedras diminuía.&lt;br /&gt;Ao concluir a travessia da sala, entrei no banho e deixei que a água que corria pelo meu corpo fosse lentamente levando as pedras fincadas na minha pele. E mesmo criando tudo, ambientando tudo, não parecia haver no mundo lugar no qual eu pudesse estar protegido. Mas ao sair do banho, lá fora, na sala, já não chovia mais. Já era dia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No meu quarto o sol surgia e trazia você entre os primeiros raios daquela manhã. O sol sorriu pra mim - você me abraçou.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Com o tempo, você e seus abraços me incentivaram a colher todas as pedras: as do quarto, as da sala e também as que a água do banho lavou de minh'alma. Eu já não precisava mais daquele velho guarda-chuva.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Estou construindo o ponto mais alto do mundo,&lt;br /&gt;e a vista já é maravilhosa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Foto: Clara Dias.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6986086381207719974-1112066085805241324?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/S0uOioxPcrbNHW-nVeD6f0oIRJ4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/S0uOioxPcrbNHW-nVeD6f0oIRJ4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/g7kaj4M-Y78" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/1112066085805241324/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=1112066085805241324&amp;isPopup=true" title="10 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/1112066085805241324?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/1112066085805241324?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/g7kaj4M-Y78/naquela-tarde-o-ceu-cinzento-se-abriu-e.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/Ss9oKOEonyI/AAAAAAAAAto/oKlqS09j0Bo/s72-c/100_7614.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>10</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2009/10/naquela-tarde-o-ceu-cinzento-se-abriu-e.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUMNRX05cCp7ImA9WxNRFko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-1958196164984422633</id><published>2009-09-11T10:54:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2009-09-11T10:58:14.328-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-11T10:58:14.328-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SqpWvoR7wiI/AAAAAAAAAtg/DJFnOpTJ5VQ/s1600-h/POST.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SqpWvoR7wiI/AAAAAAAAAtg/DJFnOpTJ5VQ/s320/POST.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380208081113956898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Assim que você me trouxe o sol novamente,&lt;br /&gt;(através da beleza dos teus olhos)&lt;br /&gt;saí apenas com uma mochila nas costas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Desde então tenho viajado pela longa estrada,&lt;br /&gt;(iluminado pela candura da tua alma)&lt;br /&gt;onde o combustível é apenas minha intuição.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sei que minha decisão me colocará no caminho certo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É por isso que viajo pela longa estrada&lt;br /&gt;para que eu possa sorrir tranquilamente,&lt;br /&gt;sem medo de ser repreendido&lt;br /&gt;ou de me sentir confuso novamente.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sinto-me bem interiormente, como há muito não sentia... até ouço o eco das minhas gargalhadas novamente.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vou continuar viajando.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Foto: Marcio Mello.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6986086381207719974-1958196164984422633?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rjzDkbTBelVPyrzhrc7ZzZGz_6s/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rjzDkbTBelVPyrzhrc7ZzZGz_6s/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/AtjqbNdixWg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/9126171526331678356/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=9126171526331678356&amp;isPopup=true" title="11 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/9126171526331678356?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/9126171526331678356?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/AtjqbNdixWg/quando-pensei-que-era-linha-de-chegada.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SoLsvxLOS2I/AAAAAAAAAtA/J8cderbGE90/s72-c/_DSC01264.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>11</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2009/08/quando-pensei-que-era-linha-de-chegada.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEYMQn04fCp7ImA9WxJUFUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-2637183100061951655</id><published>2009-07-14T11:07:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-14T11:36:23.334-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-14T11:36:23.334-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SlyTxazxcCI/AAAAAAAAArY/O25ZIxAn3wE/s1600-h/25.neopolisSElavandoroupanabeiradorio.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/_pc8lnzezE-o/SlyTxazxcCI/AAAAAAAAArY/O25ZIxAn3wE/s320/25.neopolisSElavandoroupanabeiradorio.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358320133883392034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Mesmo que na última noite tenha tido pesadelos, acordado com dificuldades de respirar e um tanto imóvel, isso não me assustou.&lt;br /&gt;Pesadelos não me assustam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pesadelo é chuva que passa, sonho não.&lt;br /&gt;Sonho é a luz que fica atrás das nuvens carregadas de chuva que caem do imaginário de nossos medos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meus sonhos são bem mais belos do que qualquer sensação temporária de felicidade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E hoje é dia de sol!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Foto: Marcio Mello.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6986086381207719974-2637183100061951655?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cTiTwcVj4DhrkChRdaEY5krMPoE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cTiTwcVj4DhrkChRdaEY5krMPoE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/av_4mnYEEO8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/2637183100061951655/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=2637183100061951655&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/2637183100061951655?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/2637183100061951655?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/av_4mnYEEO8/mesmo-que-na-ultima-noite-tenha-tido.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SlyTxazxcCI/AAAAAAAAArY/O25ZIxAn3wE/s72-c/25.neopolisSElavandoroupanabeiradorio.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2009/07/mesmo-que-na-ultima-noite-tenha-tido.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak4BR3w-eSp7ImA9WxJWGU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-4559734310335904592</id><published>2009-06-25T10:46:00.006-03:00</published><updated>2009-06-25T11:09:16.251-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-06-25T11:09:16.251-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SkN_vCXx8qI/AAAAAAAAAq4/8A_o0kaO-oU/s1600-h/DSC00841.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SkN_vCXx8qI/AAAAAAAAAq4/8A_o0kaO-oU/s320/DSC00841.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351261228313473698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E lá estava ela só. Definitivamente só.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perdida em meio às páginas de um livro já lido, ela tentava se concentrar naquele velho sofá já conhecido de outras estações (porque aquele quarto não era mais um convite ao seu tão apreciado hábito de ler). Em meio a uma infeliz roleta de pensamentos (que ela tentava espantar para longe, sem sucesso), ocorre a percepção de que aquele não é o seu lugar. Aquele nunca foi o seu lugar. E o seu velho apreciável hábito de ler, já era comparável a entediante programação da TV das tardes de domingo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O remorso toma conta de seus pensamentos, e ela, lamentavelmente, não sabe o por quê.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Num rompante de raiva, ela arremessa o livro com toda sua força ao espelho da parede do outro lado da sala (que já a olhava por vários minutos com ar de decepção). E mesmo com os vidros e a moldura caindo no chão, o único som daquela sala vazia era o da sua respiração ofegante e descompassada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A ânsia de choro denunciava sua infelicidade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E antes mesmo que a primeira lágrima caísse de seu rosto, ela ouviu risos ensurdecedores ecoando na sala, emudecendo o trêmulo som de sua respiração. O livro lançado, havia deixado cair no meio da sala uma foto do seu passado (onde os belos e verdadeiros sorrisos eram dominantes e a felicidade era algo real e não um estado momentaneamente inventado para que se acreditasse estar feliz).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Quando o passado realmente torna-se passado, ele transforma-se no tempo onde só a lembrança é o que pode trazê-lo de volta, de forma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; inventada.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Nada mais.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Foto: Marcio Mello.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6986086381207719974-4559734310335904592?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GOgRkwuUXjGPoCkX_m0DHSrd1J0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GOgRkwuUXjGPoCkX_m0DHSrd1J0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/Q_BN62CtuO0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/4559734310335904592/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=4559734310335904592&amp;isPopup=true" title="10 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/4559734310335904592?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/4559734310335904592?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/Q_BN62CtuO0/e-la-estava-ela-so.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SkN_vCXx8qI/AAAAAAAAAq4/8A_o0kaO-oU/s72-c/DSC00841.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>10</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2009/06/e-la-estava-ela-so.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkEESHk9fip7ImA9WxJWEko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-7480222183481889823</id><published>2009-06-17T16:56:00.007-03:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T17:30:09.766-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-06-17T17:30:09.766-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SjlRCoSE3dI/AAAAAAAAAqo/hLRGulK5HiQ/s1600-h/_DSC00216_.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SjlRCoSE3dI/AAAAAAAAAqo/hLRGulK5HiQ/s320/_DSC00216_.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348395138093997522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Eu quero que você me ame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu quero que você me ame, com sua paciência e com sua maior vontade. Com a voracidade do amor apetecido pela carne, a veemência do desejo de ser possuída pelo meu corpo e o desejo de que eu fique amando infinitamente dentro de ti.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu quero que você me ame, com seus defeitos e suas promessas. Com a paixão crescendo dentro de mim, de forma que quanto mais você se entregue, mais renasça em mim o desejo de querer-te.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Desperta em mim a plenitude de amar-te, sempre.&lt;br /&gt;E que meu súbito desejo latente se faça eterno.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu só quero que você me ame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Foto: Marcio Mello.&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/6986086381207719974-7480222183481889823?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/CQfcL0JEL3nlvP1hpPI7Mr4d26I/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/CQfcL0JEL3nlvP1hpPI7Mr4d26I/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/9lRSWG8LQb0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/7480222183481889823/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=7480222183481889823&amp;isPopup=true" title="8 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/7480222183481889823?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/7480222183481889823?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/9lRSWG8LQb0/eu-quero-que-voce-me-ame.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SjlRCoSE3dI/AAAAAAAAAqo/hLRGulK5HiQ/s72-c/_DSC00216_.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>8</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2009/06/eu-quero-que-voce-me-ame.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04CQn4yfyp7ImA9WxJXFEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-613852687011318489</id><published>2009-06-07T22:07:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-06-08T11:39:23.097-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-06-08T11:39:23.097-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SixnTpSKskI/AAAAAAAAAqI/jiXCUfNqu1k/s1600-h/_DSC00550.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SixnTpSKskI/AAAAAAAAAqI/jiXCUfNqu1k/s320/_DSC00550.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344760444979163714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Retórica do eu temporal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quando encontrei comigo naquela curva,&lt;br /&gt;eu estava velho, cansado e carcomido.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Estava sob o efeito das ações do tempo, tempo que não perdoa. Mas justamente comigo,  o tempo parecia ter dado atenção especial ao seu lastimável castigo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu queria ir embora de mim, me largar ali, sem dó nem piedade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Eu não fazia mais sentido para mim, eu não me aceitava!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Então quando consegui fugir de mim, lá estava eu, na próxima curva, rindo de mim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Como eu, velho, cansado e carcomido conseguia ser mais rápido que eu?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tentei insistentemente conversar comigo, mas como eu havia me desprezado na última curva, eu não tinha mais qualquer interesse em dialogar comigo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas segui, e na curva seguinte, eu estava lá. Mais uma vez.&lt;br /&gt;Então, resolveu me aceitar e me dar uma chance inegável de diálogo, simplesmente por ter seguido em frente.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fiz as pazes comigo, declarando minha inenarrável satisfação e continuei seguindo, desta vez com o sábio eu - que muito havia aprendido com o tempo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Foto: Marcio Mello.&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/6986086381207719974-613852687011318489?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RTu2qmIQ-3N6_FlCvEQrau2AkmQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RTu2qmIQ-3N6_FlCvEQrau2AkmQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/2EeuxPcB7as" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/613852687011318489/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=613852687011318489&amp;isPopup=true" title="5 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/613852687011318489?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/613852687011318489?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/2EeuxPcB7as/retorica-do-eu-temporal-quando.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SixnTpSKskI/AAAAAAAAAqI/jiXCUfNqu1k/s72-c/_DSC00550.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2009/06/retorica-do-eu-temporal-quando.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkINSXwzcSp7ImA9WxJQGEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-4839747554978282752</id><published>2009-05-31T19:18:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-05-31T19:56:38.289-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-05-31T19:56:38.289-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SiMHyQroLhI/AAAAAAAAAqA/IkFLrM7YXLM/s1600-h/_DSC00365.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SiMHyQroLhI/AAAAAAAAAqA/IkFLrM7YXLM/s320/_DSC00365.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342122143044349458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Passagem&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As flores voltam a colorir,  e o vento que sopra além de não me causar mais dor, também seca as gotas da chuva que ainda ficaram do inverno passado.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As tatuagens que fiz e as marcas a ferro quente, também se foram (constam apenas nas lembranças - impossíveis de apagar).&lt;br /&gt;Volto a ter domínio dos meus pensamentos, e como ser dominante, as lembranças são meramente opcionais. Tão opcionais quanto a superficialidade dos insanos que da noite pro dia se dizem felizes (nessa vida, só se é feliz de verdade, quem pra isso nunca machucou alguém com a covardia de omissões silenciosas que nunca desejaríamos pra nós).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O sono tranquilo é uma linha paralela de uma reta infinita chamada felicidade. E este silêncio (do sono tranquilo), indiscutivelmente, por vezes, fala muito mais do que qualquer palavra ou conjunto de palavras existentes em quaisquer dicionários desse mundo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Minha sensitividade prova cada vez mais que ela é fruto dos  sinais de Deus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Com isso, o sol aqui dentro do peito reina fortemente com seus raios me saindo pelos póros.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"  &gt;Foto: Marcio Mello.&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/6986086381207719974-4839747554978282752?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/OJoPX72VTapfI8ZIULGsR-CSDPY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/OJoPX72VTapfI8ZIULGsR-CSDPY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/02aiPdMc1Ho" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/4839747554978282752/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=4839747554978282752&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/4839747554978282752?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/4839747554978282752?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/02aiPdMc1Ho/passagem-as-flores-voltam-colorir-e-o.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SiMHyQroLhI/AAAAAAAAAqA/IkFLrM7YXLM/s72-c/_DSC00365.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2009/05/passagem-as-flores-voltam-colorir-e-o.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUECQXw6eCp7ImA9WxJRFUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-2892463608814571887</id><published>2009-05-17T15:13:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-05-17T19:01:00.210-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-05-17T19:01:00.210-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/ShBT_AgpDWI/AAAAAAAAAp4/jGESstrKRIY/s1600-h/_SDC10375.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/_pc8lnzezE-o/ShBT_AgpDWI/AAAAAAAAAp4/jGESstrKRIY/s320/_SDC10375.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336857900367809890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;A nossa vida é feita de escolhas, e quase sempre, em nosso dia-a-dia, temos que tomar decisões e escolher caminhos, mas apenas em alguns desses momentos de nossas vidas (que por ironia do destino, são os cruciais) temos medo de seguir adiante das decisões escolhidas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eis que surge o medo...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas o medo é importante para conhecermos nossos limites.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se estacionamos na estrada da vida,&lt;br /&gt;na garagem chamada limite,&lt;br /&gt;a vida pára.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Os nossos limites surgem para serem quebrados, assim como a vida é para ser percorrida e não estacionada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Um verdadeiro homem,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;é conhecido pela sua coragem.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"  &gt;Foto: Diana Cabral.&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/6986086381207719974-2892463608814571887?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HDuEoiJbrpv5Mno5pxIUwgvFkoo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HDuEoiJbrpv5Mno5pxIUwgvFkoo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/X9OMcrD-4Xo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/2892463608814571887/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=2892463608814571887&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/2892463608814571887?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/2892463608814571887?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/X9OMcrD-4Xo/nossa-vida-e-feita-de-escolhas-e-quase.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/ShBT_AgpDWI/AAAAAAAAAp4/jGESstrKRIY/s72-c/_SDC10375.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2009/05/nossa-vida-e-feita-de-escolhas-e-quase.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUYEQn09eSp7ImA9WxJREEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-6094436784797187000</id><published>2009-05-11T23:28:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T23:58:23.361-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-05-11T23:58:23.361-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SgjfHObdGSI/AAAAAAAAApo/kCQ-JsU4Bxc/s1600-h/_DSC00463.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/_pc8lnzezE-o/SgjfHObdGSI/AAAAAAAAApo/kCQ-JsU4Bxc/s320/_DSC00463.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334759073845680418" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Era inevitável que eu cuidasse de você naquela tarde de verão.&lt;br /&gt;(mesmo sabendo que o verão vem e se vai deixando marcada a nossa pele)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Era inevitável também,&lt;br /&gt;o meu carinho diante de tão aparente inocência.&lt;br /&gt;(mesmo sabendo que a inocência sempre acaba com o tempo)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Era inevitável tanta coisa, que eu poderia passar anos escrevendo minha lista de coisas inevitáveis apenas daquela tarde de verão.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas, se eu vivesse evitando coisas, nao teria vivido, não teria crescido e muito possivelmente não seria feliz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Existem momentos em que devemos tirar o "cinto de segurança" de nossas vidas (os que criamos), para que assim, a vida possa ser de fato, vivida.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Para minha mais nova amiga,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://soseforinesquecivel.blogspot.com/"&gt;Beta Profice.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"  &gt;Foto: Marcio Mello.&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/6986086381207719974-6094436784797187000?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Nzr3qwCUisVfGYoKl8WE9zXrO6s/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Nzr3qwCUisVfGYoKl8WE9zXrO6s/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/jxuNX16X7Ls" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/6094436784797187000/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=6094436784797187000&amp;isPopup=true" title="6 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/6094436784797187000?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/6094436784797187000?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/jxuNX16X7Ls/era-inevitavel-que-eu-nao-cuidasse-de.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SgjfHObdGSI/AAAAAAAAApo/kCQ-JsU4Bxc/s72-c/_DSC00463.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2009/05/era-inevitavel-que-eu-nao-cuidasse-de.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUQEQHo_fip7ImA9WxJSF00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-652434157666819363</id><published>2009-05-07T10:08:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2009-05-07T10:35:01.446-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-05-07T10:35:01.446-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SgLd_wRlXDI/AAAAAAAAApg/naUmT6TyJgw/s1600-h/_dunasdepixaimAL.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SgLd_wRlXDI/AAAAAAAAApg/naUmT6TyJgw/s320/_dunasdepixaimAL.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333068996120239154" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Da Falta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Como num passe de mágica eu estava lá,&lt;br /&gt;caminhando entre dunas intermináveis, sendo abraçado pelo sol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O cheiro do mar, lá longe, bem longe, me fez pensar em tudo de bom que o mar me trouxe ao longo dos anos. (Às vezes sinto-me com mais verões do que já tive). E isso me fez sentir saudade, saudade do amor. Mas não aquela saudade de um amor que passou ou aquela saudade do amor. Mas a saudade de amar alguém. Saudade de sentir aquela leve impressão de que pra ser feliz você tem que estar amando alguém. De sentir o peito queimar quando você encontra o ser amado por acaso, sorri meio sem graça e mal consegue acenar pelo braço que ficou dormente.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas o melhor de tudo isso,&lt;br /&gt;é quando nesse momento você olha pra dentro de si&lt;br /&gt;e percebe que nunca havia se amado tão perfeitamente assim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Então começam a brotar flores dos pés,&lt;br /&gt;luz do coração e dos lábios, um sorriso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E nesse exato momento,&lt;br /&gt;tudo a nossa volta passa a ter ainda mais cor, ainda mais vida.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"  &gt;Foto: Diana Cabral&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6986086381207719974-652434157666819363?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/K_xjhzYpKZpi8t1DxhiD4xP-hlM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/K_xjhzYpKZpi8t1DxhiD4xP-hlM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~4/LPAoUb2usSE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/feeds/652434157666819363/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986086381207719974&amp;postID=652434157666819363&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/652434157666819363?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986086381207719974/posts/default/652434157666819363?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/EstradaDePensamentos/~3/LPAoUb2usSE/da-falta-como-num-passe-de-magica-eu.html" title="" /><author><name>Mamello</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10174530831879377168</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SZSW4Z0ADwI/AAAAAAAAAng/6HLBEsg97-E/S220/Orkut20060723.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SgLd_wRlXDI/AAAAAAAAApg/naUmT6TyJgw/s72-c/_dunasdepixaimAL.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com/2009/05/da-falta-como-num-passe-de-magica-eu.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0YNQ3w_eip7ImA9WxJTFUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986086381207719974.post-2111395698343799938</id><published>2009-04-23T23:29:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T23:46:32.242-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-04-23T23:46:32.242-03:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pc8lnzezE-o/SfEllXAMYPI/AAAAAAAAApY/9dNEUQdianM/s1600-h/_DSC00195.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/_pc8lnzezE-o/SfEllXAMYPI/AAAAAAAAApY/9dNEUQdianM/s320/_DSC00195.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328081157916221682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tenho a mania intensa de pensar em várias coisas ao mesmo tempo. Coisas que quero solucionar pra mim, pros outros.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A verdade é que eu tenho visto muito mesmo,&lt;br /&gt;é a falta de amor que o ser humano tem dado a si&lt;br /&gt;e aos outros que estão a sua volta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reclamam de amores verdadeiros que estão extintos,&lt;br /&gt;e pouco se preocupam em fazer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Só querem.&lt;br /&gt;Apenas querem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seja amor, dê amor.&lt;br /&gt;Amor não é feito de felicidade, mas sim, de fé.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;"Onde não há amor&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;coloca o amor&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;e receberá o amor."&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(São João da Cruz)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"  &gt;Foto: Marcio Mello&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6986086381207719974-2111395698343799938?l=estradadepensamentos.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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