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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;CUADQn45eip7ImA9WhVbEU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406</id><updated>2012-05-27T08:49:33.022-07:00</updated><title>Virgula Persona</title><subtitle type="html">Para não desprezar a necessidade de pausar e refletir em meio a ansiedades de cada dia. Para compartilhar pensamentos, emoções e as vezes agruras(por que não?). Para criticar e ser criticada. Dentre estes e muitos outros motivos o Virgula Persona está na praça.
Infelizmente não posso prometer-lhes novidades diárias, mas volta e meia vagarão por aqui idéias das mais variadas.</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>81</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/sAisB" /><feedburner:info uri="blogspot/saisb" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUHSHc4fyp7ImA9WhVUGUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-7198873941425839014</id><published>2012-05-25T10:50:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-05-25T10:50:39.937-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-05-25T10:50:39.937-07:00</app:edited><title>Saudade assumida</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PV1LrLG5iKz-V_yMf5bM6xD3XmI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PV1LrLG5iKz-V_yMf5bM6xD3XmI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4Ix4YSEOdpo/T7_FtC-5RcI/AAAAAAAAATE/UuEvC1eCChk/s1600/la%25C3%25A7os.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;Se a vida é uma equação, tenho sérios problemas! Me ensina a subtrair, por favor?&lt;br /&gt;Certa vez, um oriental quase africano me disse:”Minha mãe me explicou que tudo que eu adquiri na vida deve ser somado. Acho que entendi errado: Ela falava de bens, e eu apliquei à pessoas.” Sinto que isso reforçou ainda mais o meu “problema”. Pensei: “Devaneio em comum”.&lt;br /&gt;Hoje, me surpreendo quando as pessoas falam com tanta naturalidade e glória de laços desfeitos e me pergunto: “Isso acrescenta em quê?” Há quem ache um ganho deixar pessoas para trás como uma forma de esquecer experiências dolorosas. Será que “o problema” está realmente nos que fora deixados para trás, se quem os deixa volta e meia repete esse ciclo? &lt;br /&gt;Certa vez, conversando sobre isso, alegaram: Amiga, às pessoas fazem isso porque lembrar de momentos bons também pode doer. Já pensou sobre isso? Talvez alguns dos que ficaram não caibam numa nova fase. Discretamente, ri. Ri porque sentir saudade um dia já me doeu, e eu não entendia tamanha dor. Hoje, a saudade que sinto não é aquela de querer ver a qualquer custo, dar um daqueles abraços “inteoráveis” e não largar mais; mas saudade daquela que te faz pensar nos momentos bons, sabe? Gargalhadas livres, discussões, compartilhamentos, sinceridade... (Ah, como essa fez falta! Tá extinta, coitada!) Enfim, momentos que foram bastantes para ser bastantes. Daí viajei ainda mais... “Esquecer para que, se foram tão bons?”&lt;br /&gt;Lembrar com saudade não é necessariamente querer reviver, mas reconhecer o valor de algo que se foi, na construção do que você é.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-7198873941425839014?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/7eLr5jESGfs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/7198873941425839014/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/05/saudade-assumida.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/7198873941425839014?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/7198873941425839014?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/7eLr5jESGfs/saudade-assumida.html" title="Saudade assumida" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/05/saudade-assumida.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkEFQXg7fip7ImA9WhVUE0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-5108081074861928409</id><published>2012-05-18T19:30:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-05-18T19:30:10.606-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-05-18T19:30:10.606-07:00</app:edited><title>Nem comento</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/STXPEY2Z6KhbR5ivqUoS3NcrJI8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/STXPEY2Z6KhbR5ivqUoS3NcrJI8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/STXPEY2Z6KhbR5ivqUoS3NcrJI8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/STXPEY2Z6KhbR5ivqUoS3NcrJI8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Tô namorando um carinha que tem me poupado de muito estresse desnecessário, me parece sensato, e ultimamente não sai da minha boca. O nome dele: &amp;nbsp;“Nem comento”. Talvez seja uma fase, mas confesso que estar com “Nem comento” é uma fase que tem me feito muito bem, pelo menos melhor que o tempo que eu estava namorando o “Quer saber?”. &amp;nbsp;Às vezes, em relances, o “Quer saber?” Ainda se faz presente e em meus devaneios e permito que ele se manifeste de alguma forma em minha vida, não tem jeito, ele fez parte de mim por muito tempo e confesso que me ajudou muito. Mas, para me poupar, aparece me mostrando o lado yang das coisas o atual, ocupa minha boca e no mais vocês já sabem, né? Nem comento.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-5108081074861928409?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/5DEcsQEIrs8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/5108081074861928409/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/05/nem-comento.html#comment-form" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/5108081074861928409?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/5108081074861928409?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/5DEcsQEIrs8/nem-comento.html" title="Nem comento" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/05/nem-comento.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04DR3g9fCp7ImA9WhVWF08.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-6917789901348731180</id><published>2012-04-29T10:52:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-29T10:52:56.664-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-29T10:52:56.664-07:00</app:edited><title>Coisas de Mãe</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mOm2qrbw-e7FmelmlWzBYFsBNDQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mOm2qrbw-e7FmelmlWzBYFsBNDQ/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/mOm2qrbw-e7FmelmlWzBYFsBNDQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mOm2qrbw-e7FmelmlWzBYFsBNDQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m50oljEiH-Y/T51-WypL79I/AAAAAAAAASw/pZ_o861VJGw/s1600/mae2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m50oljEiH-Y/T51-WypL79I/AAAAAAAAASw/pZ_o861VJGw/s1600/mae2.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;1 ano&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
-eu babo mesmo, &amp;nbsp;meu bebezão &amp;nbsp;é &amp;nbsp;lindo.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 anos&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
-Não ta lindo de colhinho da páscoa?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11 anos&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
-Trabalho na casa do colega? Que colega?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16 anos&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
-cinema? Mas chega antes das 20 hein?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17 anos&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
-Não, &amp;nbsp;não é super proteção. Só liguei para dizer que é só aquecer o leito no microondas, ta na porta da geladeira, viu?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
(Ela queria sondar onde está, como está e lembrar que você precisa se alimentar bem. Afinal, não importa por onde você esteve, nem o que comeu. Ela quer que você coma em casa, algo que ela preparou. Impressioante!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25 anos&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
-Mas por que o Marcelo gritou com você? Seu pai não te gritava! Quem ele pensa que é? Maridos são substituíveis, sabia?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Qualquer idade:&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
-Leva o agasalho, pode chover.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
(É bom levar ainda que esteja fazendo Sol. Não sei o que elas fazem, mas que a água vai cair é fato.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
E não adianta. Não reclama, nem pede para ela mudar. Porque ela é mãe, e mãe pode até mudar a forma de babar, mas é pra vida toda. E ainda que você não caiba mais nas mãos dela, insistirá em cuidar de você. Deixa, vai. Curte a sua!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pXRbdpEtWcc/T51-brYtQ_I/AAAAAAAAAS4/VbPF_VUxSc8/s1600/m%C3%A3e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pXRbdpEtWcc/T51-brYtQ_I/AAAAAAAAAS4/VbPF_VUxSc8/s1600/m%C3%A3e.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;PS.: Dos 18 aos 30&amp;nbsp;discordâncias&amp;nbsp;tensas garantidas. Sem prescrições. Cada um que se entenda com a sua!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-6917789901348731180?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/_zNjtBzM_nA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/6917789901348731180/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/coisas-de-mae.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/6917789901348731180?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/6917789901348731180?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/_zNjtBzM_nA/coisas-de-mae.html" title="Coisas de Mãe" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m50oljEiH-Y/T51-WypL79I/AAAAAAAAASw/pZ_o861VJGw/s72-c/mae2.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/coisas-de-mae.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A08HSXg6eSp7ImA9WhVWF0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-8932267947089009389</id><published>2012-04-29T10:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-29T10:17:18.611-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-29T10:17:18.611-07:00</app:edited><title>Tem dias</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9K-E4LYZ5BnhXfG6Pb4clQitc1E/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9K-E4LYZ5BnhXfG6Pb4clQitc1E/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/9K-E4LYZ5BnhXfG6Pb4clQitc1E/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9K-E4LYZ5BnhXfG6Pb4clQitc1E/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JxAXpF80wXk/T513fjPzcrI/AAAAAAAAASk/sKvET1b1eFw/s1600/fum2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JxAXpF80wXk/T513fjPzcrI/AAAAAAAAASk/sKvET1b1eFw/s1600/fum2.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;Tem dias que se pudesse sumia&lt;br /&gt;
Tem&amp;nbsp;dias que se pudesse faria alguns sumirem&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;Tem&amp;nbsp;dias que se pudesse sumiria com alguns&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tem&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;dias que rever alguns e compartilhar&amp;nbsp;de si, regado a risos e&amp;nbsp;drinks madrugada a&amp;nbsp;dentro é o bastante&lt;br /&gt;
Tem&amp;nbsp;dias que alguns somem, e parece que isso seria necessário para que outros aparecessem&lt;br /&gt;
Tem&amp;nbsp;dias como hoje: que não importa o que apareça ou o que suma, teimam em ser são bons.&lt;br /&gt;
Tem&amp;nbsp;dias que quando o plano "B"&amp;nbsp;dá errado você chora, em outros você percebe que o "B" não passa&amp;nbsp;de uma segunda tentativa quando ainda tem muita carta na manga&amp;nbsp;de "C" a "Z".&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-8932267947089009389?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/xUYxQLm1Y34" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/8932267947089009389/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/tem-dias.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/8932267947089009389?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/8932267947089009389?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/xUYxQLm1Y34/tem-dias.html" title="Tem dias" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JxAXpF80wXk/T513fjPzcrI/AAAAAAAAASk/sKvET1b1eFw/s72-c/fum2.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/tem-dias.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0YHSXw4eSp7ImA9WhVWFEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-1129963332713528259</id><published>2012-04-26T05:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-26T05:58:58.231-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-26T05:58:58.231-07:00</app:edited><title>Pedidos</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/TLg33tHct-HGphHDrFpwfcHD8-E/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/TLg33tHct-HGphHDrFpwfcHD8-E/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4gdpbwA7ixI/T5lGPD-4KAI/AAAAAAAAASI/Eq7GEo-NWdw/s1600/blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4gdpbwA7ixI/T5lGPD-4KAI/AAAAAAAAASI/Eq7GEo-NWdw/s320/blog.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Me livra meu Deus, de tudo que me fecha os olhos, do que me poda, do que me tira a espontaneidade, do medo do risco, e que para isso dê voltas, tombos e ganhe quantas cicatrizes foram necessárias, se da sua vontade for. Mas não me deixa intacta, Painho, por favor. Me dá sabedoria para entender quando preciso tomar novo rumo ou "recontinuar a trajetória"... E por tudo até agora, sempre grata. Por hora os arranhões tem me ajudado...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-1129963332713528259?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/a9D5vgGxZD0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/1129963332713528259/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/pedidos.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/1129963332713528259?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/1129963332713528259?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/a9D5vgGxZD0/pedidos.html" title="Pedidos" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4gdpbwA7ixI/T5lGPD-4KAI/AAAAAAAAASI/Eq7GEo-NWdw/s72-c/blog.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/pedidos.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUEEQn0zeCp7ImA9WhVWFEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-2260623586929279098</id><published>2012-04-25T21:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-25T21:13:23.380-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-25T21:13:23.380-07:00</app:edited><title>"Se te amo?"</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/z52dHYEV4Xia8uAIF-wGj4CunlI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/z52dHYEV4Xia8uAIF-wGj4CunlI/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/z52dHYEV4Xia8uAIF-wGj4CunlI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/z52dHYEV4Xia8uAIF-wGj4CunlI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Tem coisas que não se cobram. Declaração de amor, por exemplo. Se alguém te ama e você sente, pra que pergunta? E se
você&amp;nbsp;não tem certeza desse amor, para que quer ouvir?&lt;br /&gt;
Gosto dos amores que sinto, de quem longe ou perto demonstra carinho, e não vejo necessidade de perguntar: "Você me ama?"&lt;br /&gt;
Os amados por mim reconhecem isso e sabem o quanto amo ESPONTANEAMENTE ouvir o que sentem por mim, e do mesmo modo dizer sem confetes.: "Eu te amo"!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-2260623586929279098?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/uOXljlwW_2U" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/2260623586929279098/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/se-te-amo.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/2260623586929279098?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/2260623586929279098?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/uOXljlwW_2U/se-te-amo.html" title="&quot;Se te amo?&quot;" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/se-te-amo.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk8CRXgzeyp7ImA9WhVQGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-621396582253122006</id><published>2012-04-09T08:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-09T08:21:04.683-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-09T08:21:04.683-07:00</app:edited><title>...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ePGzDJyZQeEA8kxHFWW0nDZGfRA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ePGzDJyZQeEA8kxHFWW0nDZGfRA/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/ePGzDJyZQeEA8kxHFWW0nDZGfRA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ePGzDJyZQeEA8kxHFWW0nDZGfRA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;span style="color: grey; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 14px;"&gt;"Somos muito parecidos, de jeitos inteiramente diferentes: somos espantosamente parecidos. E eu acho que é por isso que te escrevo, para cuidar de ti, para cuidar de mim - para não querer, violentamente não querer de maneira alguma ficar na sua memória, seu coração, sua cabeça, como uma sombra escura. Perdoe a minha precariedade e as minhas tentativas inábeis, desajeitadas, de segurar a maçã no escuro. Me queira bem. Estou te querendo muito bem neste minuto. Tinha vontade que você estivesse aqui e eu pudesse te mostrar muitas coisas, grandes, pequenas, e sem nenhuma importância, algumas. Fique feliz, fique bem feliz, fique bem claro, queira ser feliz. Você é muito lindo e eu tento te enviar a minha melhor vibração de axé. Mesmo que a gente se perca, não importa. Que tenha se transformado em passado antes de virar futuro. Mas que seja bom o que vier, para você, para mim."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;span style="color: grey; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 14px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;
&lt;span style="color: grey; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 14px;"&gt;Caio &amp;nbsp;Fernan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: grey; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14px; text-align: left;"&gt;do &amp;nbsp; Abreu&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/6699065221305356406-621396582253122006?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/dXESoEp1qqo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/621396582253122006/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/blog-post.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/621396582253122006?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/621396582253122006?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/dXESoEp1qqo/blog-post.html" title="..." /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/blog-post.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUIHQ3g8eSp7ImA9WhVQGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-5972826452473177949</id><published>2012-04-09T07:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-09T07:58:52.671-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-09T07:58:52.671-07:00</app:edited><title>Quis</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/LVN44cr2g_tnF9A9gqQIZLcComM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/LVN44cr2g_tnF9A9gqQIZLcComM/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/LVN44cr2g_tnF9A9gqQIZLcComM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/LVN44cr2g_tnF9A9gqQIZLcComM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ri8GT-V9ntM/T4L4lnqlH0I/AAAAAAAAASA/0oALy7iG2QA/s1600/opp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ri8GT-V9ntM/T4L4lnqlH0I/AAAAAAAAASA/0oALy7iG2QA/s1600/opp.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;Oh meu menino, sei lá por que me veio à cabeça hoje... Estranho, mas foi o primeiro pensamento. Acordei, olhei no espelho da cabeceira e lembrei de você, rs. Quis um beijo seu, um beijo na testa, de ternura, seguido de um abraço fraterno. Aquele que faz dois se sentirem um só. Faz tempos que não sinto uma saudade tão pura. Sei lá... Ainda sinto muita coisa vindo de você. Juro que senti seus dias de crise daqui, e ainda mais... Ontem, tive um dia bem tranquilo, me senti tão bem, que você não tem noção. Mas senti necessidade de orar por ti. E o fiz sem relutar. Tomou alguma atitude decisiva ontem? rs... Não é bruxaria, é ligação mesmo, e já me acostumei com a idéia&amp;nbsp;de que ela existe entre nós como existem entre alguns poucos amigos e não lutarei contra isso. Fica tranquilo, pois não se trata&amp;nbsp;de uma paixão, nem platonicidade. É só uma infinitude&amp;nbsp;de bem querer,&amp;nbsp;de mim pra você.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ass.: A Raposa.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-5972826452473177949?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/_9-f_gFzTu4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/5972826452473177949/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/quis.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/5972826452473177949?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/5972826452473177949?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/_9-f_gFzTu4/quis.html" title="Quis" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ri8GT-V9ntM/T4L4lnqlH0I/AAAAAAAAASA/0oALy7iG2QA/s72-c/opp.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/quis.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0EHRno9eyp7ImA9WhVQFUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-8759123138452257373</id><published>2012-04-04T06:20:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-04T06:20:37.463-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-04T06:20:37.463-07:00</app:edited><title>Crônica do Amor - Arnaldo Jabor</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6wSP2FPLL7xSeJKMGlFjprQ3ZA4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6wSP2FPLL7xSeJKMGlFjprQ3ZA4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6wSP2FPLL7xSeJKMGlFjprQ3ZA4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6wSP2FPLL7xSeJKMGlFjprQ3ZA4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ninguém ama outra pessoa pelas qualidades que ela tem, caso contrário os honestos, simpáticos e não fumantes teriam uma fila de pretendentes batendo a porta.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
O amor não é chegado a fazer contas, não obedece à razão. O verdadeiro amor acontece por empatia, por magnetismo, por conjunção estelar.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ninguém ama outra pessoa porque ela é educada, veste-se bem e é fã do Caetano. Isso são só referenciais.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ama-se pelo cheiro, pelo mistério, pela paz que o outro lhe dá, ou pelo tormento que provoca.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ama-se pelo tom de voz, pela maneira que os olhos piscam, pela fragilidade que se revela quando menos se espera.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Você ama aquela petulante. Você escreveu dúzias de cartas que ela não respondeu, você deu flores que ela deixou a seco.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Você gosta de rock e ela de chorinho, você gosta de praia e ela tem alergia a sol, você abomina Natal e ela detesta o Ano Novo, nem no&lt;br /&gt;
ódio vocês combinam. Então?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Então, que ela tem um jeito de sorrir que o deixa imobilizado, o beijo dela é mais viciante do que LSD, você adora brigar com ela e ela adora implicar com você. Isso tem nome.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Você ama aquele cafajeste. Ele diz que vai e não liga, ele veste o primeiro trapo que encontra no armário. Ele não emplaca uma semana nos empregos, está sempre duro, e é meio galinha. Ele não tem a&lt;br /&gt;
menor vocação para príncipe encantado e ainda assim você não consegue despachá-lo.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Quando a mão dele toca na sua nuca, você derrete feito manteiga. Ele toca gaita na boca, adora animais e escreve poemas. Por que você ama&lt;br /&gt;
este cara?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Não pergunte pra mim; você é inteligente. Lê livros, revistas, jornais. Gosta dos filmes dos irmãos Coen e do Robert Altman, mas sabe que uma boa comédia romântica também tem seu valor.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
É bonita. Seu cabelo nasceu para ser sacudido num comercial de xampu e seu corpo tem todas as curvas no lugar. Independente, emprego fixo, bom saldo no banco. Gosta de viajar, de música, tem loucura&lt;br /&gt;
por computador e seu fettucine ao pesto é imbatível.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Você tem bom humor, não pega no pé de ninguém e adora sexo. Com um currículo desse, criatura, por que está sem um amor?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ah, o amor, essa raposa. Quem dera o amor não fosse um sentimento, mas uma equação matemática: eu linda + você inteligente = dois apaixonados.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Não funciona assim.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amar não requer conhecimento prévio nem consulta ao SPC. Ama-se justamente pelo que o Amor tem de indefinível.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Honestos existem aos milhares, generosos têm às pencas, bons motoristas e bons pais de família, tá assim, ó!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Mas ninguém consegue ser do jeito que o amor da sua vida é! Pense nisso. Pedir é a maneira mais eficaz de merecer. É a contingência maior de quem precisa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;u&gt;Arnaldo Jabor&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-8759123138452257373?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/H29UaOkAfcY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/8759123138452257373/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/cronica-do-amor-arnaldo-jabor.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/8759123138452257373?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/8759123138452257373?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/H29UaOkAfcY/cronica-do-amor-arnaldo-jabor.html" title="Crônica do Amor - Arnaldo Jabor" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/cronica-do-amor-arnaldo-jabor.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0AHR3k_fCp7ImA9WhVQFEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-7063591622891577751</id><published>2012-04-03T06:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-03T06:28:56.744-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-03T06:28:56.744-07:00</app:edited><title>Pomba e serpente</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gWF1Pl2HRhEKdVEXBICb0kzF8nE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gWF1Pl2HRhEKdVEXBICb0kzF8nE/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/gWF1Pl2HRhEKdVEXBICb0kzF8nE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gWF1Pl2HRhEKdVEXBICb0kzF8nE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4earRRN71lM/T3r4WQLn7zI/AAAAAAAAARw/imAv7y6vbbY/s1600/mm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4earRRN71lM/T3r4WQLn7zI/AAAAAAAAARw/imAv7y6vbbY/s1600/mm.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
-Sim, sim, sim. Já entendi o que entendeu. Mas você entende que não foi nesse sentido que falei?&lt;br /&gt;
-Pra mim continua sendo.&lt;br /&gt;
-Aí já não posso fazer nada.&lt;br /&gt;
-Nem faz questão, não é? Você é muito indiferente, prepotente, calculista.&lt;br /&gt;
-Hahaha... Um pouquinho talvez, confesso. Ás vezes é preciso... Mas calculista?&lt;br /&gt;
-Duvido muito, ou melhor, acho estranho você fazer ou falar certas coisas assim... Sem querer.&lt;br /&gt;
-Ah, então é tudo muito bem intencionado e calculado?&lt;br /&gt;
-É, você é má.&lt;br /&gt;
-Só um pouquinho. Às vezes é preciso...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;"Não me venha falar na malícia de toda mulher. Cada um sabe a dor e a delícia de ser o que é...&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Você sabe explicar, você sabe entender tudo bem. Você está,&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;você é, você faz, você quer, Você tem...&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Você diz a verdade. A verdade é o seu dom de iludir..." &amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Já diz Veloso.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-7063591622891577751?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/DNO2im9_PRQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/7063591622891577751/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/pomba-e-serpente.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/7063591622891577751?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/7063591622891577751?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/DNO2im9_PRQ/pomba-e-serpente.html" title="Pomba e serpente" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4earRRN71lM/T3r4WQLn7zI/AAAAAAAAARw/imAv7y6vbbY/s72-c/mm.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/pomba-e-serpente.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak8DQXY8eSp7ImA9WhVQE0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-7088657265811723188</id><published>2012-04-02T13:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-02T13:34:30.871-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-02T13:34:30.871-07:00</app:edited><title>"Flashback"</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Fu-sRPAlhhmeOrD6PVj-fTAK3C4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Fu-sRPAlhhmeOrD6PVj-fTAK3C4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Fu-sRPAlhhmeOrD6PVj-fTAK3C4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Fu-sRPAlhhmeOrD6PVj-fTAK3C4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;i&gt;Sorrisos&lt;/i&gt;. Como tais reconheceria a léguas&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Perfume&lt;/i&gt; inconfundível que me arrastou a meses num flashback muito insano&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Olhares&lt;/i&gt; penetrantes&lt;br /&gt;
Confissões,&amp;nbsp;desabafos, presentes, pedidos, &lt;i&gt;novos encontros&lt;/i&gt;, outros acertos...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Carinhos&lt;/i&gt;?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Me encandecem...&lt;br /&gt;
Que bom sentir o mundo girar, o vento bater no rosto e a certeza&amp;nbsp;de ter &lt;i&gt;aberto mão&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;do que deveria.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-7088657265811723188?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/siCb6IQT2fM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/7088657265811723188/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/flashback.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/7088657265811723188?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/7088657265811723188?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/siCb6IQT2fM/flashback.html" title="&quot;Flashback&quot;" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/flashback.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0IAQ30-eyp7ImA9WhVQE0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-1769389368079290109</id><published>2012-04-01T21:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-01T21:39:02.353-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-01T21:39:02.353-07:00</app:edited><title>"Quereísmo"</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VojD5QePnfe73lW7O7T8UGa2XbA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VojD5QePnfe73lW7O7T8UGa2XbA/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/VojD5QePnfe73lW7O7T8UGa2XbA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VojD5QePnfe73lW7O7T8UGa2XbA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Já perdi as contas&amp;nbsp;de quantas vezes meu mal ou meu bem foi querer&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;Bem por querer&lt;br /&gt;
Mal por só querer, e nada além.&lt;br /&gt;E sinto-me insaciável pelos&amp;nbsp;tantos que ainda quero&lt;br /&gt;Conjugar o Querer? Perco-me em seu tempo, modo, número, pessoa a aspecto...&lt;br /&gt;Abro mão. Logo, apenas emprego-o a meu bel prazer e favor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vai, Caê! Vai, Chico! Fala pra eles sobre o querer, porque a mim já não cabe...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/Njjeb2bN578/0.jpg"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Njjeb2bN578&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;
&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;
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&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3Xjlm4fACanlpBWwNoD4bw4-nXI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3Xjlm4fACanlpBWwNoD4bw4-nXI/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/3Xjlm4fACanlpBWwNoD4bw4-nXI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3Xjlm4fACanlpBWwNoD4bw4-nXI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GjjQz-kK9IA/T3h-Cr0-zZI/AAAAAAAAARo/rSwwdO4snxM/s1600/pilula.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GjjQz-kK9IA/T3h-Cr0-zZI/AAAAAAAAARo/rSwwdO4snxM/s1600/pilula.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span style="background-color: white;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Vou mudar de curso! As palavras que me perdoem, mas vou fazer Farmácia. Inventarei uma pílula anti-saudade, assim como existem os anti-depressivos e sempre que uma saudade insana quiser me invadir, nos primeiros sintomas, tomarei um monte delas.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
PS.: Que teria de gente sofrendo de Overdose não tá no Gibi...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;*Antes&amp;nbsp;&lt;span style="background-color: transparent;"&gt;de postar esse texto enviei a uma amiga e a reação&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: transparent;"&gt;dela após risos foi: "Vai trocar&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: transparent;"&gt;de curso mesmo?" Ai quem riu pacas fui eu!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bjos, Cremosinho!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="background-color: white;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-7811494562141958909?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/qiRcI-RrS2o" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/7811494562141958909/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/farmacia-ja.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/7811494562141958909?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/7811494562141958909?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/qiRcI-RrS2o/farmacia-ja.html" title="Farmácia, já!" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GjjQz-kK9IA/T3h-Cr0-zZI/AAAAAAAAARo/rSwwdO4snxM/s72-c/pilula.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/04/farmacia-ja.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUQMR3czfCp7ImA9WhVQEEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-3237448973998209650</id><published>2012-03-29T20:16:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-29T20:16:26.984-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-29T20:16:26.984-07:00</app:edited><title>Ironia fati?</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2rvmi_3RdWmTedxKvlTWQKKulUk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2rvmi_3RdWmTedxKvlTWQKKulUk/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/2rvmi_3RdWmTedxKvlTWQKKulUk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2rvmi_3RdWmTedxKvlTWQKKulUk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VrkJ_EsWzTU/T3UlU1idG2I/AAAAAAAAAQc/IRq3gskzSlU/s1600/viagem.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="308" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VrkJ_EsWzTU/T3UlU1idG2I/AAAAAAAAAQc/IRq3gskzSlU/s320/viagem.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;Dirigir sem rumo&lt;br /&gt;
Ultrapassar linhas&amp;nbsp;&lt;span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;dos&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;sete &lt;span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;dos&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;emira&lt;span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;dos&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Bailar o ventre sob o luar&lt;br /&gt;
Assistir tempo e espaço conciliar com o acaso&lt;br /&gt;
Insultá-los só por teimar&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-3237448973998209650?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/qHNkJSNeg3A" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/3237448973998209650/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/ironia-fati.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/3237448973998209650?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/3237448973998209650?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/qHNkJSNeg3A/ironia-fati.html" title="Ironia fati?" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VrkJ_EsWzTU/T3UlU1idG2I/AAAAAAAAAQc/IRq3gskzSlU/s72-c/viagem.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/ironia-fati.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUYERH09eSp7ImA9WhVQEUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-918564078253953594</id><published>2012-03-29T19:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-30T06:11:45.361-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-30T06:11:45.361-07:00</app:edited><title>Chacoalhos</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SHpk4K06lalxsI2Easiq75ehd1o/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SHpk4K06lalxsI2Easiq75ehd1o/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/SHpk4K06lalxsI2Easiq75ehd1o/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SHpk4K06lalxsI2Easiq75ehd1o/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cgD0D4jEL_Y/T3Ub3ZDZBcI/AAAAAAAAAQM/73SQwUgy2Rc/s1600/pft.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cgD0D4jEL_Y/T3Ub3ZDZBcI/AAAAAAAAAQM/73SQwUgy2Rc/s1600/pft.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Algumas bebidas ficam prontas sem precisar muito esforço. Por exemplo, &amp;nbsp;whisky e energético. Só em por no mesmo recipiente fica bom. Ou melhor, perfeito! Outras, precisam&amp;nbsp;de uma chacoalhada, como a vitamina&amp;nbsp;de abacate&amp;nbsp;deliciosa que vou tomar&amp;nbsp;daqui a pouco. O leite e o abacate precisam&amp;nbsp;de uma chacoalhada para se unirem e virar vitamina. Será que você não percebe? Talvez sejamos a vitamina&amp;nbsp;do abacate e temos tudo para&amp;nbsp;dar certo. O que me parece faltar é a chacoalhada. Vamos tentar?"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Chacoalhamos? Nem sei ao certo mas já não somos como como antes. Talvez o resultado&amp;nbsp;da vitamina não tenha sido como esperado. Chega a ser engraçado, mas&amp;nbsp;acabamos por reforçar caracteristicas individuais que já tinhamos. Sinto-me cada vez mais sutil, tenho percebido que &lt;i&gt;não&amp;nbsp;devemos&lt;/i&gt; esperar&amp;nbsp;das pessoas e reforcei o pensar de que palavras são menos importantes que o sentir (as vezes elas cansam). Espero, só não sei se&amp;nbsp;deveria esperar, ter sido útil para você. Mesclamo-nos muito e confesso o receio&amp;nbsp;de ter sugado sua sutileza e tê-lo manchado&amp;nbsp;de orgulho. Um orgulho que quando ferido te tenha induzido a agir&amp;nbsp;de maneira inconsequente, a fim&amp;nbsp;de sucumbir algo tão, tão, tão.. intenso e nosso.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Usar palavras, canções ou tentativa&amp;nbsp;de indiferença como armadura não funciona. Se negar não adianta e resulta em vazio e&amp;nbsp;dor, recorramos à verdade como sempre fizemos: Assumamos que é. Assumamos por que não foi. Assumamos que vai passar(rs...). Ou quem sabe a bebida escolhida não foi a mais apropriada?&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Espero (sim, por teimosia, espero) o&amp;nbsp;dia em que riremos ao falar&amp;nbsp;de tudo isso, bem saberá Deus quando, contando cada um sobre os seus, quiçá sobre os nossos, regado a&amp;nbsp;um bom &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;v&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;inho ou &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;c&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;afé. Vai lá saber a bebida apropriada... Vai lá saber... &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6QczEpNFk2U/T3UdUxFEmhI/AAAAAAAAAQU/z5b_ypCKB-o/s1600/vc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6QczEpNFk2U/T3UdUxFEmhI/AAAAAAAAAQU/z5b_ypCKB-o/s1600/vc.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Salvador, 29&amp;nbsp;de março&amp;nbsp;de 2012, 08:25h.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-918564078253953594?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/EAcwfj-XbXk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/918564078253953594/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/chacoalhos.html#comment-form" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/918564078253953594?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/918564078253953594?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/EAcwfj-XbXk/chacoalhos.html" title="Chacoalhos" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cgD0D4jEL_Y/T3Ub3ZDZBcI/AAAAAAAAAQM/73SQwUgy2Rc/s72-c/pft.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/chacoalhos.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CU8BQnkyeCp7ImA9WhVRGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-4882153651842735224</id><published>2012-03-27T08:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-28T21:04:13.790-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-28T21:04:13.790-07:00</app:edited><title>A calça</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_BvtcznybpQ0SoLXk7XIgoPPKzM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_BvtcznybpQ0SoLXk7XIgoPPKzM/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/_BvtcznybpQ0SoLXk7XIgoPPKzM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_BvtcznybpQ0SoLXk7XIgoPPKzM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-87mJU0PF_wY/T3HgtZh2E1I/AAAAAAAAAP0/ayj9Ei8a7_g/s1600/cal%C3%A7a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-87mJU0PF_wY/T3HgtZh2E1I/AAAAAAAAAP0/ayj9Ei8a7_g/s1600/cal%C3%A7a.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
- E ai, companheiro? Fazer o que essa noite?&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Essa não tem acordo. É aniversário&amp;nbsp;da patroa. Inclusive, ficaria muito satisfeito e&amp;nbsp;devedor&amp;nbsp;de um favor se você passar o presente para ela no seu cartão. A&amp;nbsp;depois te pago...&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Oxente, você bem sabe como estimo&amp;nbsp;dona Cléia e muito. Ainda te ajudo a escolher o presente.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Ja esta decidido que levarei uma bermuda. Não carece&amp;nbsp;de ajuda não. O que agrada minha mulher, eu conheço.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Mais tarde, na loja:&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Tô&amp;nbsp;dizendo, companheiro. Tô&amp;nbsp;dizendo: essa calça não&amp;nbsp;dá na sua mulher, não.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Por toda consideração que lhe tenho: não se meta com o tamanho&amp;nbsp;da... da...Quer&amp;nbsp;dizer, com o tamanho&amp;nbsp;da roupa&amp;nbsp;que minha mulher veste.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Companheiro, relaxe. É só uma opinião pelo que vejo assim por alto, mas leva o que você quiser. Afinal, você que bem conhece né? A mulher é sua. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
No&amp;nbsp;dia seguinte:&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Companheiro, vai fazer o que essa noite?&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Rapaz, queria até falar contigo. Vamos ali?&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Opaaa! Hoje a farra é onde?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Na loja.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Que loja, rapaz? Não... Não&amp;nbsp;diga... Hahahahahaaaaa!&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Mais respeito, rapaz. Capaz&amp;nbsp;
de ser mesmo o que está pensando. A mulher amou o modelo&amp;nbsp;
da calça, fez gracinha e tudo, mas eu o tempo todo só pensava no tal tamanho&amp;nbsp;da calça. Ainda tive que ouvir: "Benzinho, é linda! Só que minha medida é uma a mais que essa. Achei que conhecesse bem o que tem em casa, rs".&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-É companheiro tem que conhecer, viu? Quem avisa amigo é. Eu não&amp;nbsp;disse?&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Sim... mas e você. Como sabia?&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Rapaz, ta&amp;nbsp;
desconfiando&amp;nbsp;
do amigo aqui? Olhos só pra minha esposa e concluo que elas tenham aproximadamente as mesmas medidas.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Mas com tanta precisão?&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Não aceito esse tipo&amp;nbsp;de suspeitas entre nós, amigo. A loja foi qual mesmo? Nem lembro...&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Seguiram juntos à loja, sem mais&amp;nbsp;dialogarem sobre, cada um com seu pensamento:&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Que onda! Admirar a bunda&amp;nbsp;da mulher&amp;nbsp;dos outros...&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
-Que onda! Nem conhece o que tem em casa e eu tenho que&amp;nbsp;dar conta por mim e pelos&amp;nbsp;os outros. Aposto que ele não entendeu que só quis ajudar...&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&amp;nbsp;E jamais conversaram novamente sobre a tal calça. Quer&amp;nbsp;dizer... entre eles né? Porque até hoje na roda&amp;nbsp;de amigos, quando se unem, há um&amp;nbsp;deles que quando pra lá&amp;nbsp;do quinto copo, grita: &amp;nbsp;"E a calça? Quem lembra?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;
* Basea&lt;span style="text-align: justify;"&gt;d&lt;/span&gt;o em fatos reais.&amp;nbsp;Assim&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 18px;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="text-align: justify;"&gt;d&lt;/span&gt;isseram&lt;b&gt;...&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-4882153651842735224?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/mxJmFdKB8uU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/4882153651842735224/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/calca.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/4882153651842735224?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/4882153651842735224?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/mxJmFdKB8uU/calca.html" title="A calça" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-87mJU0PF_wY/T3HgtZh2E1I/AAAAAAAAAP0/ayj9Ei8a7_g/s72-c/cal%C3%A7a.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/calca.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A08CRXw7fSp7ImA9WhVRGE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-2807940807282147293</id><published>2012-03-26T17:57:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-26T17:57:44.205-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-26T17:57:44.205-07:00</app:edited><title>O conhecido</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mz_1B69O3R-1IAXl_TzK1d0MLWc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mz_1B69O3R-1IAXl_TzK1d0MLWc/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/mz_1B69O3R-1IAXl_TzK1d0MLWc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mz_1B69O3R-1IAXl_TzK1d0MLWc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;Quando entrou, ele já estava ali sentado. Entrou, sentou numa cadeira à sua esquerda.&amp;nbsp;Sentiu um toque no ombro. Virou:&lt;br /&gt;
-Oi... O nem tinha te visto, tudo bem?&lt;br /&gt;
-Achei que estivesse confundido, mas é você mesma, rs. Como está?&lt;br /&gt;
-Bem. e você?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Proto. Foram cumprimentos bastantes para desenrolar uma conversa que parecia não ter mais fim. E o mais interessante nisso tudo, é que haviam se visto outrora de maneira tão formal, a ponto de os assuntos entre eles nunca terem passado de tratos comercias. Agora, a conversa girava em torno de planos, relacionamentos, convicções, religião, escolhas, amizades, traições, consciência, liberdade. Ela&amp;nbsp;sentiu-se tão à vontade, que não existiam barreiras naquela conversa. Ele, tão à vontade que praticamente fez um resumo de sua vida, &lt;i&gt;sem pular&lt;/i&gt; as frustrações, desamores, casamento até então em vigor e traições.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Ela sem entender o motivo de tais assuntos serem abordados, achou absurda a similaridade detalhadas entre os fatos que ele contara e os que ela vivera recentemente. Opinava poucas vezes. Na maioria dos momentos fez-se de boa ouvinte e apreciou o bom falar do rapaz e suas histórias(ou estórias?). Por fim, ao aproximar do ponto de destino dele, disse ao ouvido dela: "Ninguém conhece ninguém, minha querida. Por mais que pareça louco, ninguém conhece ninguém. Quando alguém te diz "você não me conhece", só está te ajudando a abrir os olhos. Querida foi um prazer. até uma próxima oportunidade".&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;Ela achou graça da conversa que se passou, e até chegar ao seu local de destino relembrara aquela conversa inesperada com o (des)conhecido que ela nem lembrava o nome, mas que amou e tão cedo não esquecerá. &amp;nbsp;mais ainda a se questionar: "Por que isso? "&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&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/6699065221305356406-2807940807282147293?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/-72BPRLLD7A" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/2807940807282147293/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/o-conhecido.html#comment-form" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/2807940807282147293?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/2807940807282147293?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/-72BPRLLD7A/o-conhecido.html" title="O conhecido" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/o-conhecido.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkMDRns7fCp7ImA9WhVRGEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-3363731262179721062</id><published>2012-03-26T16:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-27T08:01:17.504-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-27T08:01:17.504-07:00</app:edited><title>Amar-te, mar!</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QkjCJcS8ZLzqOSX0wXLQAW4DWqs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QkjCJcS8ZLzqOSX0wXLQAW4DWqs/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/QkjCJcS8ZLzqOSX0wXLQAW4DWqs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QkjCJcS8ZLzqOSX0wXLQAW4DWqs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DyBFolkwV3g/T3D71Qfq8uI/AAAAAAAAAPk/MsDrVmBu-Yc/s1600/mar+a+noite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DyBFolkwV3g/T3D71Qfq8uI/AAAAAAAAAPk/MsDrVmBu-Yc/s1600/mar+a+noite.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
De um lado grinaldas, saltos, tafetás, canções, juras de amor eterno, feixes de luz, ansiedade.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Do outro, o mais belo e romântico dos amantes: o mar. Ah, e a lua? Fininha como última fatia do bolo da festa, talvez com inveja da beira da praia que era beijada pelo mar. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
De que lado ficar? Se o social pedia minha presença o natural me gritava.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Licença dos convidados, abandono do salto alto(não tão alto), vestido suspenso pelas mãos e pés na areia. Ahhhh... não poderia haver sensação mais relaxante naquele momento. Os pés gozavam da frialdade da areia, os olhos brilhavam ao contemplar o lado mais lindo da noite e o coração, rendeu-se. Rumo ao mar, para roubar os selinhos que eram mandados à praia e só. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Pela ocasião a noite já havia valido a pena, mas o natural fez tudo mais especial. &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Amei, amar-te, mar. Amei amar-te. Ali, em silêncio, amei amar-te.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-3363731262179721062?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/En3y73d6GiE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/3363731262179721062/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/amar-te-mar.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/3363731262179721062?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/3363731262179721062?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/En3y73d6GiE/amar-te-mar.html" title="Amar-te, mar!" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DyBFolkwV3g/T3D71Qfq8uI/AAAAAAAAAPk/MsDrVmBu-Yc/s72-c/mar+a+noite.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/amar-te-mar.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEIDRXo5fCp7ImA9WhVRF0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-4705213705633279690</id><published>2012-03-26T08:42:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-26T08:42:54.424-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-26T08:42:54.424-07:00</app:edited><title>Idas e Vindas</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/meWR8MFP_-EIkc89ER_3OV4jReM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/meWR8MFP_-EIkc89ER_3OV4jReM/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/meWR8MFP_-EIkc89ER_3OV4jReM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/meWR8MFP_-EIkc89ER_3OV4jReM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Cenário comum, rotineiro até.&lt;br /&gt;Feição conhecida,&lt;br /&gt;
Poucas palavras trocadas outrora,&lt;br /&gt;
Agora, tantas mais.&lt;br /&gt;
Ora, desabafo; ora, advertência&lt;br /&gt;
Tão coerentes, seria coincidência?&lt;br /&gt;
No momento, como amigo.&lt;br /&gt;
Sorrisos de quem entende e assume.&lt;br /&gt;
Por que tantas coisas ditas?&lt;br /&gt;
Por que naquele momento? Aquelas frases? Aqueles conselhos?&lt;br /&gt;
Poucas vezes se viram fora dos formais, e foram tão rápidas&lt;br /&gt;
E aqueles instantes se fizeram valer por horas, resumos de fatos intensos.&lt;br /&gt;
Agora se faz presente um saber um do doutro e um perceber subentendido.&lt;br /&gt;
Meros conhecidos?&lt;br /&gt;Não mais.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-4705213705633279690?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/PsIlBqXsZm4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/4705213705633279690/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/idas-e-vindas.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/4705213705633279690?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/4705213705633279690?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/PsIlBqXsZm4/idas-e-vindas.html" title="Idas e Vindas" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/idas-e-vindas.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkMHRnk7eSp7ImA9WhVRFEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-3374022984355477966</id><published>2012-03-22T19:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-22T19:40:37.701-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-22T19:40:37.701-07:00</app:edited><title>"CoM" &amp; "sEm"</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IjZj-9PfGL72RlGH148sf-bK_dM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IjZj-9PfGL72RlGH148sf-bK_dM/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/IjZj-9PfGL72RlGH148sf-bK_dM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IjZj-9PfGL72RlGH148sf-bK_dM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;E nessa história toda já nem sei se é possível distinguir os erros dos acertos. Só queria ver as coisas se encaixarem de fato, sem legendas, sem teorias, sem tantas contradições, sem essa barreira agora existente, &amp;nbsp;sem... sei lá. Talvez o erro esteja aí, em tantos "sem". Falta mesmo o "com", aí está a questão... Qual o "com" que nos falta? Queria entender o que tudo isso significa para você, só não sei se isso me cabe. Enquanto isso, aceito.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;
&lt;span style="text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/Rm41SWnAekc/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Rm41SWnAekc&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;

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&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
Se é que eu sei aceitar...&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-3374022984355477966?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/6DeW5MQzmgk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/3374022984355477966/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/com-sem.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/3374022984355477966?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/3374022984355477966?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/6DeW5MQzmgk/com-sem.html" title="&quot;CoM&quot; &amp; &quot;sEm&quot;" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/com-sem.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUIEQnY7fyp7ImA9WhVRE0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-7979518389388958432</id><published>2012-03-21T16:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-21T16:45:03.807-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-21T16:45:03.807-07:00</app:edited><title>Mais um verão!</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Zj9EDTVPlQ4NR_eYCkdSVWB_Xz0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Zj9EDTVPlQ4NR_eYCkdSVWB_Xz0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Zj9EDTVPlQ4NR_eYCkdSVWB_Xz0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Zj9EDTVPlQ4NR_eYCkdSVWB_Xz0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;Ai meu meu Deus, mais um verão que se encerra. Para mim, um dos melhores dos últimos tempos.&lt;br /&gt;"São as águas de março fechando o verão e a promessa de vida no teu coração..."&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
A la Ivete, ou Tom, Verão, é &amp;nbsp;Verão...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-7979518389388958432?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/Sq2S70-IFfE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/7979518389388958432/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/mais-um-verao.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/7979518389388958432?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/7979518389388958432?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/Sq2S70-IFfE/mais-um-verao.html" title="Mais um verão!" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/mais-um-verao.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUEQn45fyp7ImA9WhVRE0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-6857638204923963482</id><published>2012-03-21T01:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-21T01:23:23.027-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-21T01:23:23.027-07:00</app:edited><title>Escolher, confortar...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/x1-f4ebf2ja83O70E6KZn7YldDc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/x1-f4ebf2ja83O70E6KZn7YldDc/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/x1-f4ebf2ja83O70E6KZn7YldDc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/x1-f4ebf2ja83O70E6KZn7YldDc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Você escolhe demais.&lt;br /&gt;-Fui comprar mais uma sapatilha hoje.&lt;br /&gt;
-Não foge do assunto Você escolhe demais.&lt;br /&gt;-Hoje fui comprar mais uma sapatilha.&lt;br /&gt;
-Sério. Por que tanta exigência assim, hein?&lt;br /&gt;
-Hoje fui comprar mais uma sapatilha, te contei?&lt;br /&gt;
-Aff! Tá, tá, tá, tá, tá. Fala da sapatilha.&lt;br /&gt;
-Quando cheguei na loja, me perguntaram o que me agradava. Olhei, escolhi, e a que provei não era tão confortável. Pensei: Poxa, bonita ela é, mas imaginei uma dia inteirinho na rua com ela me apertando os dedos e desisti de trazê-la. Fiz mal, amiga?&lt;br /&gt;-Claro que não. Ela poderia te causar um dano bem maior, estresse, dor. Ainda bem que não trouxe, rs.&lt;br /&gt;-Agora pensa, se sapato escolhemos, homem vai ser qualquer um?&lt;br /&gt;
-É né, amiga? Tem muita &lt;i&gt;havaiana&lt;/i&gt; tirada a &lt;i&gt;scarpin &lt;/i&gt;não é?&lt;br /&gt;-Ainda prefiro a havaiana (entre risos). O caso é que tem muito &lt;i&gt;scarpin&lt;/i&gt; achando que pode ser tão confortável quanto havaiana.&lt;br /&gt;-Vamos ali, em busca de um meio-termo?&lt;br /&gt;
-Como assim, azarar?&lt;br /&gt;-Não amiga, comprar uma sapatilha.&lt;br /&gt;
-kkkkkkkk. Só se for agora.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-6857638204923963482?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/Ix0-dNQ_Je8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/6857638204923963482/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/escolher-confortar.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/6857638204923963482?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/6857638204923963482?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/Ix0-dNQ_Je8/escolher-confortar.html" title="Escolher, confortar..." /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/escolher-confortar.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEMAR3g-fCp7ImA9WhVRE0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-6096853726789808694</id><published>2012-03-21T00:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-21T00:54:06.654-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-21T00:54:06.654-07:00</app:edited><title>O AmOr, ZiLdA e mais uma filosofia...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GKBpw7Zd2qgtWOq01AqMPBLCG_A/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GKBpw7Zd2qgtWOq01AqMPBLCG_A/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/GKBpw7Zd2qgtWOq01AqMPBLCG_A/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GKBpw7Zd2qgtWOq01AqMPBLCG_A/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rhwskj2vQ6Y/T2mJCY4RdbI/AAAAAAAAAPc/NcfSI0rAsZQ/s1600/mor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rhwskj2vQ6Y/T2mJCY4RdbI/AAAAAAAAAPc/NcfSI0rAsZQ/s1600/mor.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;-Onde você procura o Amor?&lt;br /&gt;
-E ele tá perdido é?&lt;br /&gt;
-Não. Mas você já o encontrou?&lt;br /&gt;
-Amor na minha cabeça é tão abrangente. Você se refere a um amor geral, ou especificamente?&lt;br /&gt;
-Amor assim, de homem e mulher, para ter junto, para sentir que é para a vida toda.&lt;br /&gt;
-Ah tah!&lt;br /&gt;
-Então, onde você procura?&lt;br /&gt;
-Talvez a questão seja essa, não procuro.&lt;br /&gt;
-Não?! Mas todo mundo procura...&lt;br /&gt;
-Prazer, me chame de Ana, Josefa, Zilda, menos "todo mundo".&lt;br /&gt;
-Se todo mundo tá procurando, ele que me encontre, rs. Mas numa boa, sem confetes? Espero que o suposto amor meu, não esteja a procura.&lt;br /&gt;
-Como não?&lt;br /&gt;
-Quando você procura algo, estabelece critérios do que quer; quando você simplesmente encontra algo que te faz bem e você desiste da tal procura e esquece os critérios que antes considerava essencial eh mais.. gostoso, digamos.&lt;br /&gt;
-Desisto. Tchau Zilda.&lt;br /&gt;
-Tchau todo mundo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-6096853726789808694?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/R7r8vk1yvKM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/6096853726789808694/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/o-amor-zilda-e-mais-uma-filosofia.html#comment-form" title="4 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/6096853726789808694?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/6096853726789808694?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/R7r8vk1yvKM/o-amor-zilda-e-mais-uma-filosofia.html" title="O AmOr, ZiLdA e mais uma filosofia..." /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rhwskj2vQ6Y/T2mJCY4RdbI/AAAAAAAAAPc/NcfSI0rAsZQ/s72-c/mor.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/o-amor-zilda-e-mais-uma-filosofia.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEEAQ3w_eSp7ImA9WhVSGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-6505348751970268399</id><published>2012-03-17T08:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-17T08:04:02.241-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-17T08:04:02.241-07:00</app:edited><title>Sabadar*</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/M4LwlosMYmMvRrldCKF2N3ecn4Q/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/M4LwlosMYmMvRrldCKF2N3ecn4Q/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/M4LwlosMYmMvRrldCKF2N3ecn4Q/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/M4LwlosMYmMvRrldCKF2N3ecn4Q/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-enCuzlVUvCw/T2SndKYGVXI/AAAAAAAAAPM/0_zlmsXyo6w/s1600/leve.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="133" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-enCuzlVUvCw/T2SndKYGVXI/AAAAAAAAAPM/0_zlmsXyo6w/s200/leve.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
-Cê tá feliz hoje.&lt;br /&gt;
-Leve... =D&lt;br /&gt;
-Por que?&lt;br /&gt;
-Sei lá... Acordei assim. Me sinto bem.&lt;br /&gt;
-Bem como? Descreve pra pra mim?&lt;br /&gt;
-Descrever? Tô fugindo, rs. Só sinto que é gostoso e sentir tem sido o bastante.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VwE151EBiWQ/T2Sndd4nGDI/AAAAAAAAAPU/KintIdLMWNs/s1600/leve2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VwE151EBiWQ/T2Sndd4nGDI/AAAAAAAAAPU/KintIdLMWNs/s200/leve2.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-6505348751970268399?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/sZpFOvrt0oo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/6505348751970268399/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/sabadar.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/6505348751970268399?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/6505348751970268399?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/sZpFOvrt0oo/sabadar.html" title="Sabadar*" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-enCuzlVUvCw/T2SndKYGVXI/AAAAAAAAAPM/0_zlmsXyo6w/s72-c/leve.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/sabadar.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEQHQn07fSp7ImA9WhVSGEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699065221305356406.post-3837915775864113667</id><published>2012-03-16T00:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-16T00:18:53.305-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-16T00:18:53.305-07:00</app:edited><title>Sonnet Incertum</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gr30SGM5W5B-_LainwB0JQuyuMk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gr30SGM5W5B-_LainwB0JQuyuMk/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/gr30SGM5W5B-_LainwB0JQuyuMk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gr30SGM5W5B-_LainwB0JQuyuMk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zVH6qS9ODOY/T2LoM7dvXII/AAAAAAAAAPE/q4uvaZ4N_M8/s1600/soneto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zVH6qS9ODOY/T2LoM7dvXII/AAAAAAAAAPE/q4uvaZ4N_M8/s1600/soneto.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;b&gt;&amp;nbsp;Version I&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Se ao menos entender o que bem quer &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
E teu anseio para mim for mais claro &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
Às minhas emoções faço preparo &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
Para o que vem de ti bem acolher &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Até agora me parece disfarce &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
Narrar o que sentiu naquela noite &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
Tomar minha palavra de açoite &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
Negar tudo que sente com realce &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Está dispensada a teoria &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Se dela as ações vivem em fuga &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;E tonto a desnuda de sentido &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Assim minha lágrima não enxuga &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;E vejo aos meus pés destituído &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;O que um sublime amor seria &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&lt;b&gt; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;Version II &amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Se ao menos entender o que bem quer&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; E teu anseio para mim for mais claro&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; As minhas emoções faço preparo&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Para o que vem de ti bem acolher&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Até agora me parece disfarce&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Narrar o que sentiu naquela noite&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Tomar minha palavra de açoite&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Negar tudo que sente com realce&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Está dispensada a teoria&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Se dela as ações vivem em fuga&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; E até aqui verdade é alimento&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Assim minha lágrima não enxuga&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Não minta para si um só momento&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Se o que sente não diminuiria&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Version II &amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
Se ao menos entender o que bem quer&lt;br /&gt;
E teu anseio para mim for mais claro&lt;br /&gt;
Às minhas emoções faço preparo&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Para o que vem de ti bem acolher&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Até agora me parece disfarce&lt;br /&gt;
Narrar o que sentiu naquela noite&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tomar minha palavra de açoite&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;
Negar tudo que sente com realce&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Está dispensada a teoria&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Se dela as ações vivem em fuga&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Nenhuma linha adiantaria&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Não minta para si um só momento&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Dói perceber que tenta enganar-se&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;E até aqui verdade é alimento &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6699065221305356406-3837915775864113667?l=virgulapersona.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~4/qtwuATfl0Bk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/feeds/3837915775864113667/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/sonnet-incertum.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/3837915775864113667?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6699065221305356406/posts/default/3837915775864113667?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/sAisB/~3/qtwuATfl0Bk/sonnet-incertum.html" title="Sonnet Incertum" /><author><name>Srta. Plácido</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00636615385467841442</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="22" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wLSB-xo7nFY/TbGjr5NU4SI/AAAAAAAAACU/yahTYugMr8o/s220/Foto-0134_e1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zVH6qS9ODOY/T2LoM7dvXII/AAAAAAAAAPE/q4uvaZ4N_M8/s72-c/soneto.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://virgulapersona.blogspot.com/2012/03/sonnet-incertum.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

