<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416</id><updated>2011-11-07T11:26:52.080-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Meu Pequeno Esconderijo</title><subtitle type='html'>Esse é meu espaço, só meu. Onde vou colocar minhas idéias mirabolantes, pensamentos supérfluos, críticas, músicas, poesias, isso tudo e coisas qualquer.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>34</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-375022801002819623</id><published>2011-11-07T11:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-07T11:26:52.098-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Dor</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Sim, eu estava disposta a encarar as coisas com mais maturidade.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mas você fez questão de estragar tudo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; ODEIO me decepcionar com as pessoas, ODEIO me decepcionar com as pessoas que &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; amo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Sem mais.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-375022801002819623?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/375022801002819623/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=375022801002819623&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/375022801002819623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/375022801002819623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/11/sem-titulo-vii.html' title='A Dor'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><georss:featurename>Rio de Janeiro - RJ, Brasil</georss:featurename><georss:point>-22.9035393 -43.20958689999998</georss:point><georss:box>-23.106540799999998 -43.59439939999998 -22.7005378 -42.824774399999974</georss:box></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-5506709760825430759</id><published>2011-10-17T11:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-17T11:44:00.341-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pensamentos Alheios em uma Mente Vazia II</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Como alguém pode falar mal de você pra outra pessoa e agir, com você se nada tivesse &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; feito?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Como alguém consegue te usar, pegar as suas coisas te tratar bem, sendo que pelas &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; costas fala mal, riem de você te zoam... Como pode? Como alguém consegue viver &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; assim, como alguém consegue colocar a cabeça no travesseiro e dormir?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E por que eu não aprendo? Por que ainda me espanto? Por que essas pessoas têm que &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; entrar no meu caminho, por que eu tenho que conviver com essas pessoas, e mesmo &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; depois de eu descobrir tudo, continua me tratando como se nada tivesse acontecido, ao &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; contrário, sabe que descobrir (e não comentei) fia me tratando até melhor, como se eu &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; estivesse encanada. Como pode? Como pode?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Que raiva, que ódio, não sei se sinto mais ódio dessa pessoa ou de mim, de ter sido tão &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; idiota a ter caído, mais uma vez.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; [Escrito em 16/12/2010]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-5506709760825430759?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/5506709760825430759/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=5506709760825430759&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/5506709760825430759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/5506709760825430759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/10/sem-titulo-vii.html' title='Pensamentos Alheios em uma Mente Vazia II'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-1400958817851883289</id><published>2011-10-11T07:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-11T09:25:20.570-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sem Título VI</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; As vezes sido uma raiva de mim, sem igual, como nunca senti de alguém na vida.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E olhe que sinto raiva de muita gente, por mais que não pareça. Rs&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tenho uma facilidade de fazer amizades que é impressionante, mas também tenho a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; mesma &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;facilidade para perdê-las.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Perdi uma amizade que foi muito importante na minha vida durante uns 3 anos. E &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; quando a perdi&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;sofri durante mais uns 3. Pra ser sincera até hoje ainda sofro, ainda dói &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; tocar nesse assunto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não quero mais isso, não quero mais perder minhas amizades, não aquelas que me &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; fazem bem, logo &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;aquelas que são amizades verdadeira, como sei que já perdi.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mas como mudar? Sei dos meus defeitos e tento, juro que tento, ser uma pessoa &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; diferente, uma &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;pessoa melhor, mas mesmo assim, algo faço pra que minhas amizades &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; tenham um término. E só eu &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;sei o quanto isso dói.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-1400958817851883289?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/1400958817851883289/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=1400958817851883289&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/1400958817851883289'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/1400958817851883289'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/10/sem-titulo-vi.html' title='Sem Título VI'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-1385656735330577061</id><published>2011-10-04T07:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-04T07:22:40.642-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Frases de James Baldwin</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;"Nem tudo o que enfrentamos pode ser mudado. Mas nada pode ser mudado enquanto &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; não for enfrentado."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "O dinheiro acabei por descobrir, era exactamente como o sexo: quando não se tem não &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; se pensa noutra coisa, e quando se tem pensa-se noutras coisas."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "O amor arranca as máscaras sem as quais temíamos não poder viver e atrás das&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; quais&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;sabemos que somos incapazes de o fazer."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "As pessoas pagam pelo que fazem, e pagam ainda mais pelo que se permitiram se &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;tornar. E pagam de forma muito simples; pela vida que levam."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;"Você não consegue mudar o que não consegue encarar."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "O confronto nem sempre traz uma solução para o problema, mas, enquanto você não &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; enfrenta o problema não há solução."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "As pessoas conseguem chorar muito mais facilmente do que elas conseguem mudar."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;a href="http://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Baldwin_(escritor)"&gt;James Baldwin&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-1385656735330577061?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/1385656735330577061/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=1385656735330577061&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/1385656735330577061'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/1385656735330577061'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/10/frase-de-james-baldwin.html' title='Frases de James Baldwin'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-321925649037676927</id><published>2011-09-09T07:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-09T07:31:25.388-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sem Título V</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu não sou uma pessoa má.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não sei o quanto isso poder ser bom.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-321925649037676927?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/321925649037676927/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=321925649037676927&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/321925649037676927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/321925649037676927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/09/sem-titulo-v.html' title='Sem Título V'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-5418944630249122791</id><published>2011-09-08T10:20:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T10:42:40.047-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Palavras Pequenas</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Sentimento&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Dor&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Compaixão&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Raiva&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Violência&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Amor&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Ódio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Quando&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Quê&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Porquê&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Pra quem&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Pra onde&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Palavras sem fim.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-5418944630249122791?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/5418944630249122791/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=5418944630249122791&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/5418944630249122791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/5418944630249122791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/09/palavras-pequenas.html' title='Palavras Pequenas'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-7806865726306619325</id><published>2011-09-08T09:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T10:34:55.678-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sem Título IV</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; As vezes me dá um nó no peito.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; As lágrimas insistem em cair, mesmo quando não é a hora certa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; A sensação que dá é fiz algo errado. Que fui cruel, desonesta...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Medo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mágoa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Desespero.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; O nó ainda não foi desfeito. Os pensamentos ainda persistem. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mas a vida segue, o trabalho acumula,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Georgia, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Quando chegar a hora da discórdia... Você se preocupa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-7806865726306619325?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/7806865726306619325/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=7806865726306619325&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/7806865726306619325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/7806865726306619325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/09/pensamentos-alheios-em-uma-mente-vazia.html' title='Sem Título IV'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-6758567303653365943</id><published>2011-08-30T10:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T12:03:10.790-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Difícil Querer Definir Amigo</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; O texto mais lindo que já li na minha vida, sem dúvida alguma:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Amigo é quem te dá um pedacinho do chão, quando é de terra&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;firme&amp;nbsp;que&amp;nbsp;você&amp;nbsp;precisa,&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;ou um pedacinho do céu, se é o sonho que te faz falta. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;Amigo é&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;mais que ombro amigo, é mão estendida, mente aberta, coração pulsante, costas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; largas. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;É quem tentou e fez, e não tem o&amp;nbsp;goísmo de não querer compartilhar o que aprendeu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É aquele que cede e não espera retorno, porque sabe que o ato de compartilhar um&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;instante qualquer contigo já o realimenta, satisfaz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É quem já sentiu ou um dia vai sentir o mesmo que você.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É a compreensão para o seu cansaço e a insatisfação para a sua reticência.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É aquele que entende seu desejo de voar, de sumir devagar, a angústia pela&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;compreensão dos acontecimentos, a sede pelo "por vir".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É ao mesmo tempo espelho que te reflete, e óleo derramado sobre suas águas agitadas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É quem fica enfurecido por enxergar seu erro, querer tanto o seu bem e saber que a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; perfeição é utopia. É o sol que seca suas lágrimas, é a polpa que adocica ainda mais seu &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; sorriso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Amigo é aquele que toca na sua ferida numa mesa de chope, acompanha suas vitórias, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; faz piada amenizando problemas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É quem tem medo, dor, náusea,cólica, gozo, igualzinho a você.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É quem sabe que viver é ter história pra contar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É quem sorri pra você sem motivo aparente, é quem sofre com seu sofrimento, é o &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; padrinho filosófico dos seus filhos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É o achar daquilo que você nem sabia que buscava.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Amigo é aquele que te lê em cartas esperadas ou não, pequenos bilhetes em sala de &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; aula, mensagens eletrônicas emocionadas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É aquele que te ouve ao telefone mesmo quando a ligação é caótica, com o mesmo &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; prazer e atenção que teria se tivesse olhando em seus olhos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Amigo é multimídia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Olhos... amigo é quem fala e ouve com o olhar, o seu e o dele em sintonia telepática.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É aquele que percebe em seus olhos seus desejos, seus disfarces, alegria, medo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É aquele que aguarda pacientemente e se entusiasma quando vê surgir aquele tão &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; esperado brilho no seu olhar, e é quem tem uma palavra sob medida quando estes &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; mesmos olhos estão amplificando tristeza interior.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É lua nova, é a estrela mais brilhante, é luz que se renova a cada instante, com &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; múltiplas e inesperadas cores que cabem todas na sua íris.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Amigo é aquele que te diz "eu te amo" sem qualquer medo de má interpretação: amigo &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; é quem te ama "e ponto".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É verdade e razão, sonho e sentimento.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Amigo é pra sempre, mesmo que o sempre não exista".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;em&gt;[Autor Desconhecido]&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-6758567303653365943?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/6758567303653365943/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=6758567303653365943&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/6758567303653365943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/6758567303653365943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/08/dificil-querer-definir-amigo.html' title='Difícil Querer Definir Amigo'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-2952256421113248905</id><published>2011-07-11T11:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T11:04:36.549-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sentimento Amargo</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É eu precisei muito de você, muito mais do que qualquer outra pessoa nesse mundo.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Confiei em você, mais do que em mim mesma.&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;Eu sei que levo a vida a ferro e fogo. Não consigo ser diferente.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Foi só me decepcionar com você uma vez, uma única vez que pronto: Tirei você&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; da &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: Georgia;"&gt;minha vida.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mas foi no momento mais difícil que já passei. Você sempre esteve presente neles. Por&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Que me deixou naquele? Por que preferiu me deixar de lado, sofrendo?&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Isso me doeu tanto. E seguiu doendo durante anos e anos. E hoje (anos depois) ver sua&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: Georgia;"&gt;foto me traz de volta toda aquela dor. E ver as fotos de amigos em comum (naquela &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; época) me dá raiva, rancor...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não quero te ver, não quero me lembrar de você. Sei que fez muito por mim, mas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;também não quero me lembrar deles. Até mesmo esses momentos me fazem mal. Tudo &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; que venha de ti me faz mal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Saia de vez da minha vida!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Quero chegar um dia e não sentir mais isso por você. Sentir, apenas, desprezo e &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: Georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; inferioridade. Mas sei que isso ainda vai demorar. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-2952256421113248905?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/2952256421113248905/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=2952256421113248905&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/2952256421113248905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/2952256421113248905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/07/sentimento-amargo.html' title='Sentimento Amargo'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-8845270500567192915</id><published>2011-07-08T06:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T11:19:07.013-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sem Título III</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Sim, estou aprendendo com a vida. Muito pouco, por sinal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; As pessoas não são como eu penso que são, muito menos como gostaria que fossem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mas é só aparecer uma nova amizade, e volta eu; Me entrego por inteiro, confio como&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; se fossemos amigas de infância, como se a pessoa nunca fosse me decepcionar. Pouco&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; tempo depois, dou de burros n’água.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Será que algum dia isso vai acabar? Será que vou aprender mesmo, ou encontrarei&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; uma&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;pessoa da qual não irei me decepcionar?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não sei, mas quero que isso acabe logo, não quero mais derramar lágrimas, sentir a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; dor&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt; no coração, ficar com baixa estima por conta disso, dessas pessoas. NÃO QUERO!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Há muito tempo sofro em relação a amizade, isso não é novidade, sei disso há muito &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; tempo, e todos que convivem comigo também.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Meu primo, Kiko, tem sido um amor, o melhor primo do mundo pra mim.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Fora o fato de me fazer ri, quase que 24h por dia, temos conversado bastante, tenho me &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; distraído bastante. Estou me sentindo a menina mais popular da escola, sabe?! Rs Sei, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; sei isso é infantilidade demais, mas é como estou me sentindo. Estou me sentindo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; muita&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;amada, uma companhia agradável (acho que nunca me senti assim), uma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; pessoa&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;que&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;agrada os outros e que esses ‘outros’ fazem questão da minha presença. E&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; isso é&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: Georgia;"&gt;maravilhoso, essa sensação é muito legal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Minha médica me disse coisas muito duras nessa semana (07/07). Fiquei bastante&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;chocada, mas ao mesmo tempo sei que ela está certa. Mas doeu ao ouvir tudo aquilo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Entre outras coisas, ela falou que já estou bem grandinha e tenho que começar a ter &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; atitude de uma adulta de 20 anos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Isso é muito difícil, eu não sei se quero.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mas não é uma situação que tem a opção de escolha. Eu tenho que amadurecer, tenho &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; que reagir como uma adulta de 20 anos. #medo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; *Por que esse medo de comentar? Eu sei que você 'aparece'. Não que dar o braço a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; torcer? rs. É, acho que não sou a única que tenho amadurecer por aqui. rs*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-8845270500567192915?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/8845270500567192915/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=8845270500567192915&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/8845270500567192915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/8845270500567192915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/07/sem-titulo-iii.html' title='Sem Título III'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-3562727370554046344</id><published>2011-06-26T14:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T11:26:43.556-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Let Me Get Me (Tradução) - Pink</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Nunca cheguei em primeiro lugar&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não dou apoio ao time&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu não tomo jeito&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E as minha meias nunca estão limpas&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Professores saíram comigo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Meu pais me odiavam&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu estava sempre em uma briga&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Porque não consigo fazer nada certo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Todo dia eu tenho uma guerra contra o espelho&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu não posso assumir a pessoa me encarando&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu sou um risco pra mim&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não me deixe comigo mesma&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu sou o meu pior inimigo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É ruim quando você irrita a si mesmo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tão irritante!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não quero mais ser minha amiga&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu quero ser qualquer outra pessoa&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu quero ser qualquer outra pessoa&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; L.A. me disse:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; 'Você vai ser uma estrela pop'&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tudo que você tem que mudar&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;É tudo o que você é&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Cansada de ser comparada&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Com a maldita Britney Spears&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Ela é tão bonita&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu não sou isso&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Então, doutor, doutor - você não quer por favor me receitar alguma coisa?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Um dia na vida de outra pessoa&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Pois eu sou um perigo pra mim mesma&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não me deixe comigo mesma&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu sou o meu pior inimigo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É ruim quando você irrita a si mesmo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tão irritante!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não quero mais ser minha amiga&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu quero ser qualquer outra pessoa&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Yeah!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não me deixe comigo mesma (não me deixe)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu sou o meu pior inimigo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É ruim quando você irrita a si mesmo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tão irritante!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não quero mais ser minha amiga&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu quero ser qualquer outra pessoa&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Então, doutor, doutor - você não quer por favor me receitar alguma coisa?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Um dia na vida de outra pessoa&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não me deixe comigo mesma&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Oh, eu sou um perigo pra mim mesma, yeah&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não me deixe comigo mesma&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu sou o meu pior inimigo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É ruim quando você irrita a si mesmo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; (A si mesmo!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tão irritante&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Não quero mais ser minha amiga&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não, não&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu quero ser qualquer outra pessoa&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não me deixe comigo mesma&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu sou o meu pior inimigo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É ruim quando você irrita a si mesmo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tão irritante!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não quero mais ser minha amiga&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu quero ser qualquer outra pessoa&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; (Não me deixe comigo mesma)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-3562727370554046344?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/3562727370554046344/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=3562727370554046344&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/3562727370554046344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/3562727370554046344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/06/dont-let-me-get-me-traducao-pink.html' title='Don&apos;t Let Me Get Me (Tradução) - Pink'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-6623403858564008418</id><published>2011-06-24T12:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T11:29:40.497-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Stop Dancing (Tradução) - Creed</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Às vezes a vida é má e eu não consigo ver a luz&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Um forro de prata as vezes não é suficiente&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Para fazer alguns erros parecerem certos&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; O que quer que a vida traga&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu já passei por tudo&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E agora caio de joelhos novamente&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mas eu sei que devo seguir em frente&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Embora doa eu devo ser forte&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Porque dentro de mim, eu sei que muitos sentem-se desse jeito&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Crianças não parem de dançar&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Acredite! Você pode voar&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Para longe... bem longe&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Às vezes a vida é injusta&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E você sabe que é claro entender&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Ei Deus, eu sei que sou só um ponto neste mundo&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Você se esqueceu de mim?&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; O que quer que a vida traga&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu já passei por tudo e agora,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Etou de joelhos de novo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mas eu sei que devo ir embora&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Embora eu me fira eu devo ser forte&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Porque dentro de mim eu sei que muitos pensam desse jeito&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Crianças não parem de dançar&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Acredite! Você pode voar&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Para longe... bem&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Será que estou escondido nas sombras?&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Esqueça da dor e esqueça das tristezas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mas eu sei que devo seguir em frente&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Embora doa eu devo ser forte&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Porque dentro de mim, eu sei que muitos sentem-se desse jeito&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Crianças não parem de dançar&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Acredite! Você pode voar&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Para longe... bem longe&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Será que estou escondido nas sombras?&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Será que estamos escondidos nas sombras? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-6623403858564008418?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/6623403858564008418/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=6623403858564008418&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/6623403858564008418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/6623403858564008418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/06/dont-stop-dancing-traducao-creed.html' title='Don&apos;t Stop Dancing (Tradução) - Creed'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-5876125989068004968</id><published>2011-06-20T10:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T11:34:15.110-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fuckin' Perfect (Tradução) - Pink</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Segui o caminho errado&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Uma ou duas vezes&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Cavei até conseguir sair&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Sangue e fogo&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Decisões ruins&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tudo bem&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Bem vindo à minha vida boba&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; Mal tratada, deslocada, mal compreendida&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Sabichona, tá tudo bem&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mas isso não me parou&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Errada, sempre em dúvida&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Subestimada, olha ainda estou por aqui&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; Querido, querido, por favor, nunca nunca se sinta&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Como se fosse menos do que perfeito pra caralho&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Querido, querido, por favor, se em algum momento você se sentir&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Como se fosse nada, você é perfeito pra caralho pra mim.&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; Você é tão mau&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Quando fala sobre si&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Você está errado. Mude essas vozes&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Na sua cabeça&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Faça eles gostarem de você dessa vez.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tão complicado&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Olha como estamos conseguindo&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Cheio de ódio&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Um jogo tão empatado&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Chega, eu fiz tudo que pude&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu persegui todos os meus demonios&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E vejo que você faz o mesmo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Querido, querido, por favor, nunca nunca se sinta&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Como se fosse menos do que perfeito pra caralho&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Querido, querido, por favor, se em algum momento você se sentir&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Como se fosse nada, você é perfeito pra caralho pra mim.&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; O mundo inteiro está assustado, então eu engulo o meu medo&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E a única coisa que eu deveria beber era uma cerveja bem gelada&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Facilmente mentindo e eu tentei, tentei&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mas nós tentamos demais, é um desperdicio do meu tempo&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Cansei de procurar pelas criticas, porque elas estão por todo lado&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eles não gostam dos meus genes, não entendem o meu cabelo&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Sempre tão rigorosos com nós mesmos o tempo todo&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Por que fazemos isso?&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Por que faço isso?&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Por que faço isso?&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Ooh, querido querido querido&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; Querido, querido, por favor, nunca nunca se sinta&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Como se fosse menos do que perfeito pra caralho&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Querido, querido, por favor, se em algum momento você se sentir&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Como se fosse nada, você é perfeito pra caralho pra mim.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Você é perfeito&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Você é perfeito&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; Querido, querido, por favor, se em algum momento você se sentir&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Como se fosse nada, você é perfeito pra caralho pra mim.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-5876125989068004968?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/5876125989068004968/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=5876125989068004968&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/5876125989068004968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/5876125989068004968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/06/fuckin-perfect-traducao.html' title='Fuckin&apos; Perfect (Tradução) - Pink'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-687523320263959700</id><published>2011-06-14T10:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T11:56:56.459-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Levo a Minha Vida Assim - Monique Kessous</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E não é que tenho pegado o gosto por isso aqui?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tudo bem, eu sei que sempre fui de escrever. Mas nos meus diários/agendas, num &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; blog? Muito louco. A qualquer momento pode aparecer pessoas por aqui e ler. Ler tudo &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; aquilo que está/esteve preso no meu peito.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Já apareceram alguns comentários aleatórios. Foram bons, confesso. Mas o 'Meu &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Pequeno Esconderijo', o nome já diz: MEU PEQUENO &lt;strong&gt;ESCONDERIJO&lt;/strong&gt;. Preciso falar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;algo mais? rs&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Nessa quinta vou a um show, da Lia Sabugosa, e vai ter a participação da Monique&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Kessous. Gosto muito do trabalho dela também. Então: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Levo a minha vida assim&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não olho só pra quem quiser saber de mim&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Me movo para longe de quem não vê nada além de si&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Para ainda viver aqui&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Espero a hora certa de me divertir&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu quero andar por onde&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Ainda se ver somente o sentido&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Puro sentido&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Onde estará não vai mais ficar&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Vem pra liberar&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Sem contra indicação de usar&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tanto faz se é de lá para cá&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Ou de cá para lá&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Quando chegar, não mais eu estarei&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Apático, em parte lá&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tão ávido a esperar&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu ficarei só a cantar, cantar, cantar"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-687523320263959700?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/687523320263959700/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=687523320263959700&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/687523320263959700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/687523320263959700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/06/levo-minha-vida-assim.html' title='Levo a Minha Vida Assim - Monique Kessous'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-4090966428317703383</id><published>2011-06-13T11:52:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-14T10:34:12.965-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sem Título II</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;E da onde persiste o desastre surge a luz pra iluminar os destroços e a escuridão.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É mais ou menos assim que está minha vida atualmente. E não tenho do que reclamar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Já faz algum tempo que tenho descoberto quem são meus amigos de verdade. Independente de cor, religião, personalidade... E assim tem sido.&lt;br /&gt;Lógico que quando as coisas acontecem pra te provar que seus amigos são realmente esses, fica tudo mais fácil. Mas as vezes os fatos só servem pra te mostrar quais pessoas você deve manter o máximo de distância. Mesmo que a distância seja de algumas cadeiras depois.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boba, sentimental e carente do jeito que sou, fica tudo bem mais difícil. Mas nem por isso a opção: 'Desistir de tudo', está ali disposta a ser acionada. Então a solução é seguir em frente firme e forte, nem tão firme e nem tão forte, mas sempre em frente.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conversa daqui, se isola dali.&lt;br /&gt;Surge uma voz, um assunto interessante e até comentando tal assunto.&lt;br /&gt;Risadinhas daqui, concordâncias dali.&lt;br /&gt;E quando me dou conta, já estou sendo confiada a um assunto particular.&lt;br /&gt;Convite daqui, incentivo dali.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E assim tem sido.&lt;br /&gt;Se daqui algum tempo vou decepcionar, fracassar, me afastar, só o tempo que vai dizer. A única coisa da qual realmente tem significância é a importância e apoio que tenho recebido. Sem ao mesmo saber o quão bem me faz, com o seu 'Bom dia!', com nosso 'papo furado'.&lt;br /&gt;Que sou amiga, acho que não serei modesta ao dizer que SIM, sou, sempre serei. É o meu jeito de ser, amiga de todos, independentes de todos não serem meus amigos. Vou está ali pra ajudar a qualquer momento. E obviamente não será diferente com essa anjinha que apareceu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Posso parecer (e até mesmo ser) bem diferente da maioria das pessoas. Não gosto de criticar, opinar, recriminar.&lt;br /&gt;Não sou de ficar rodeada de amigos. Também não tive a melhor infância do mundo, e longe de ter sido a pior. Nunca fui a mais alegre, que contagia a todos.&lt;br /&gt;Sempre na minha, deprimida, conformada, ciumenta, carente. Mas com a mania de confiar cegamente nas pessoas, e acreditar que as pessoas são boas, que todos são bons e demonstro meu amor (ou falta de) logo de cara.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Muitos me dizem que vou aprender com o tempo.&lt;br /&gt;Sim, provavelmente, embora esse tal ‘tempo’ nunca chegue. Mas ate lá sigo sendo que eu sou.&lt;br /&gt;Fazendo, acontecendo, sofrendo, vivendo, aprendendo. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-4090966428317703383?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/4090966428317703383/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=4090966428317703383&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/4090966428317703383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/4090966428317703383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/06/sem-titulo-ii.html' title='Sem Título II'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-2256891883145455693</id><published>2011-06-10T07:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T11:36:43.354-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Felicidade - Marcelo Geneci</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tenho muito o que dizer, e pouco tempo para isso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Logo, vou colocar uma música, da qual gosto muito.&lt;br /&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; Haverá um dia em que você não haverá de ser feliz.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Sem tirar o ar, sem se mexer, sem desejar como antes sempre quis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Você vai rir, sem perceber, felicidade é só questão de ser.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Quando chover, deixar molhar pra receber o sol quando voltar.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Lembrará os dias que você deixou passar sem ver a luz.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Se chorar, chorar é vão porque os dias vão pra nunca mais.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Melhor viver, meu bem, pois há um lugar em que o sol brilha pra você.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Chorar, sorrir também e depois dançar, na chuva quando a chuva vem.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Melhor viver, meu bem, pois há um lugar em que o sol brilha pra você.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Chorar, sorrir também e dançar.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Dançar na chuva quando a chuva vem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tem vez que as coisas pesam mais do que a gente acha que pode aguentar.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Nessa hora fique firme, pois tudo isso logo vai passar.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Você vai rir, sem perceber, felicidade é só questão de ser.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Quando chover, deixar molhar pra receber o sol quando voltar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Melhor viver, meu bem, pois há um lugar em que o sol brilha pra você.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Chorar, sorrir também e depois dançar, na chuva quando a chuva vem.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Melhor viver, meu bem, pois há um lugar em que o sol brilha pra você.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Chorar, sorrir também e dançar.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Dançar na chuva quando a chuva vem. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-2256891883145455693?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/2256891883145455693/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=2256891883145455693&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/2256891883145455693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/2256891883145455693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/06/felicidade-marcelo-geneci.html' title='Felicidade - Marcelo Geneci'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-4952069300912734909</id><published>2011-06-02T12:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-02T12:29:40.465-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fácil, não?!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Queria eu saber quem exatamente sou.&lt;br /&gt;Pra poder dizer como muitos: Quero encontrar uma pessoa igual a mim. Pra poder ser feliz para o resto da vida.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Há muito tempo eu tenho dito aos quatro ventos que não pretendo me casar. Mas na verdade acho que tenho medo, medo de não encontrar essa pessoa igual a mim.&lt;br /&gt;Medo de, mesmo diferente, não encontre uma pessoa que me aceite, medo de eu não me permitir ser feliz. Ou de realmente ninguém sentir vontade de se casar comigo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tenho tantos medos, medos de tantas coisas.&lt;br /&gt;Queria me descobrir, pra a partir daí, começar a (tentar) mudar meus defeitos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Outro dia minha médica me deu um puxão de orelha. Exigiu que eu agisse com maturidade, já que sou uma adulta. Mas quem me perguntou se eu queria ser adulta?&lt;br /&gt;Eu sei, eu sei, ninguém escolhe, é a ordem natural da vida: Nascer, crescer... E isso me deixa mais chateada ainda.&lt;br /&gt;Não tenho alguns pensamentos de adultos, e em alguns casos quero nunca ter. Prefiro meu pensamentos, eles me representam, representam o que realmente sou. Querem o quê? Que eu mude pensamentos? Fácil, não?! Aff!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-4952069300912734909?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/4952069300912734909/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=4952069300912734909&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/4952069300912734909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/4952069300912734909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/06/facil-nao.html' title='Fácil, não?!'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-766884583249886724</id><published>2011-06-01T11:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-01T11:59:23.363-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pensamentos Alheios em uma Mente Vazia</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;‘O mundo precisa de pessoas verdadeiras’.&lt;br /&gt;Eu ouvi essa frase e parei pra pensar. Percebi que é a mais pura mentira.&lt;br /&gt;As pessoas não estão preparadas pra ouvir a verdade. Nunca estão. Preferem uma mentira bem contada, interpretada, do que a verdade dura e crua.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sim, ela pode machucar e nunca mais curar. Mas te machucou por um motivo real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Você disse que preferia saber a verdade. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;S&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;oube. E agora? Sou errada por isso? Então se eu tivesse dito: ...&lt;br /&gt;Seria bem melhor, doeria menos e eu ainda sairia como a amiga de todos?&lt;br /&gt;Não.&lt;br /&gt;Prefiro sua indiferença, seu desprezo, do que a culpa pela mentira, pela traição, prefiro tudo isso, todo esse clima que me dói do que a dor de ter feito algo que vai contra aos meus princípios. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-766884583249886724?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/766884583249886724/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=766884583249886724&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/766884583249886724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/766884583249886724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/06/pensamentos-alheios-em-uma-mente-vazia.html' title='Pensamentos Alheios em uma Mente Vazia'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-6748421640173960094</id><published>2011-04-19T09:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T11:39:49.459-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tonight (Tradução) - Alex Band</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Bem, o céu se partiu em dois&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Encontrei você dançando sozinha&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Então o quarto se preencheu com você,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E aquela musica que nós dois conhecemos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Isso foi quando você me pegou com seus olhos&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E causou arrepios baixos em minha espinha&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E então você sussurrou em meu ouvido&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Você disse "Eu posso sentir isso também"&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E então você me puxou para dentro de você&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Hoje a noite&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu tenho você onde eu te quero&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mais perto eu posso te falar qualquer coisa&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Você é a música que eu canto&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Hoje a 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;Deixe a música nos conduzir&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Nós cairemos para sempre, tudo esta certo&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Porque eu tenho você onde eu te quero&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Hoje a noite&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Hoje a noite&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Através de toda a ciência e história&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Bem, nada nunca esteve preso comigo&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mas agora estou aprisionado em você&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E eu estou me segurando na&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Única coisa que eu sei&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E agora eu nunca vou deixar partir&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Hoje a noite&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu tenho você onde eu te quero&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mais perto eu posso te falar qualquer coisa&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Você é a música que eu canto&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Hoje a noite&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Deixe a música nos conduzir&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Nós cairemos para sempre, tudo esta certo&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Porque eu tenho você onde eu te quero&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Hoje a noite&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Hoje a noite&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; O mundo todo poderia desmoronar&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mas você e eu,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não, nós não queremos ter medo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Hoje a noite&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu tenho você onde eu te quero&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mais perto eu posso te falar qualquer coisa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Hoje a noite&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Deixe a música nos conduzir&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Nós cairemos para sempre, tudo esta certo&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Porque eu tenho você onde eu te quero&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Hoje a Noite&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Eu tenho você onde eu te quero&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Hoje a noite. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-6748421640173960094?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/6748421640173960094/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=6748421640173960094&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/6748421640173960094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/6748421640173960094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/04/tonight.html' title='Tonight (Tradução) - Alex Band'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-3166699576847606295</id><published>2011-03-10T11:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T11:41:00.583-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Medo d'A Tal Felicidade</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: arial;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tenha medo da felicidade&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Quando ela chega, muda sua vida&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Por inteiro&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Muda o olhar,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; O humor,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Os lábios,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; O rosto por inteiro&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Você se olha no espelho&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E não reconhece aquela menina&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Pálida&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Sem expressão&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Conformada...&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Conformada com sua dor&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Com a tal felicidade chegando na casa de seus amigos&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E na sua,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não passava da janela&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Pois então tenha medo&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Medo que verá no espelho daqui pra frente&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; A tal felicidade. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-3166699576847606295?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/3166699576847606295/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=3166699576847606295&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/3166699576847606295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/3166699576847606295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/03/medo-da-tal-felicidade.html' title='Medo d&apos;A Tal Felicidade'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-5644306514657371028</id><published>2011-03-02T06:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T11:45:20.096-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Numb (Tradução) - Link Park</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Estou cansado de ser o que você quer que eu seja&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Me sentindo tão sem fé, perdido sob a superfície&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não sei o que você está esperando de mim&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Colocado sob pressão&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; De andar sob seus passos&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; (Pego pela contra-corrente,apenas pela contra-corrente)&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Cada passo que eu dou é mais um erro para você&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; (Pego pela contra-corrente,apenas pela contra-corrente)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tornei-me tão entorpecido&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Não posso sentir você aqui&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Me tornei tão cansado,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Muito mais consciente&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Me transformo nisso,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tudo o que eu quero fazer&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; É ser mais como eu sou&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E menos como você é&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Você não pode ver que está me sufocando?&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Me segurando tão apertado,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Com medo de perder o controle&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Pois tudo o que você pensou que pudesse ser&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Caiu por terra bem na sua frente&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; (Pego pela contra-corrente, apenas pela contra-corrente)&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Cada passo que eu dou é mais um engano para você&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; (Pego pela contra-corrente, apenas pela contra-corrente)&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E cada segundo que eu desperdiço é mais do que eu posso ter&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; E eu sei&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Que eu posso terminar fracassando também&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Mas eu sei que&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Você era exatamente como eu&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Com alguém desapontado dentro de você&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-5644306514657371028?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/5644306514657371028/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=5644306514657371028&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/5644306514657371028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/5644306514657371028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2011/03/numb-traducao-link-park.html' title='Numb (Tradução) - Link Park'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-8243042674346971729</id><published>2010-05-09T12:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T11:46:08.546-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Perguntas... Cadê as Respostas?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Quando será que o infinito tem fim?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Quando será que a doença incurável curará?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Será que o descendente não terá algo ereditário?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Se as respostas forem as óbvias, então porque continuar lutando pela sobrevivência?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;Então porque continuar vivendo?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Quem puder responder, por favor! E será que alguém conseguirá me responder?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-8243042674346971729?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/8243042674346971729/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=8243042674346971729&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/8243042674346971729'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/8243042674346971729'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2010/05/perguntas-cade-as-respostas.html' title='Perguntas... Cadê as Respostas?'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-3128130129051433472</id><published>2010-02-06T17:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-05-09T13:01:12.251-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Vários Assuntos Misturados.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;" &gt;Dia 18 sei que minha vida vai mudar, pra melhor.&lt;br /&gt;Basta saber se vou conseguir dar conta.&lt;br /&gt;Tenho tanto medo de fracasar, com isso deixo até mesmo de tentar. Mas nesse caso essa hipótese está descartada. Fato.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Queria poder ser bem diferente do que sou, em quase tudo. Já tentei tanto, mas nada. O caso é me confromar ou continuar tentando?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quando se senti frio na barriga quando pensamos em alguém, se o coração despara loucamente quando vê a pessoa, e quando fica perto e começa a suar frio? Não consegue olhar nos olhos, fica sem assunto, não consegue agir naturalmente, torce pra encontrar por acaso (ou não) a qualquer momento, quer ficar sempre bem vestida e arrumada pra quando chegar o encontro te ver da melhor maneira, cada demonstração de carinho já aparece um sorriso todo iluminado e as bochechas logo ficam rosadas... O que significa isso? Acho que não quero ter resposta.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-3128130129051433472?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/3128130129051433472/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=3128130129051433472&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/3128130129051433472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/3128130129051433472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2010/02/varios-assuntos-misturados.html' title='Vários Assuntos Misturados.'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-8740046195474474327</id><published>2010-01-01T08:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T11:47:06.138-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Te Amo Vózinha. Fique Bem!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; De todo o amor que eu tenho&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Metade foi tu que me deu&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Salvando minh`alma da vida&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Sorrindo e fazendo o meu eu&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Se queres partir ir embora&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Me olha da onde estiver&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Que eu vou te mostrar que eu to pronta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Me colha madura do pé&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Salve, salve essa nega&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Que axé ela tem&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Te carrego no colo e te dou minha mão&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Minha vida depende só do teu encanto&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Diga&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; pode ir tranquila&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Teu rebanho tá pronto&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Teu olho que brilha e não para&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tuas mãos de fazer tudo e até&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; A vida que chamo de minha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Neguinha, te encontro na fé&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Me mostre um caminho agora&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Um jeito de estar sem você&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; O apego não quer ir embora&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Diaxo, ele tem que querer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Ó meu pai do céu, limpe tudo aí&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Vai chegar a rainha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Precisando dormir&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Quando ela chegar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Tu me faça um favor&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Dê um manto a ela, que ela me benze aonde eu for&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; O fardo pesado que levas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Desagua na força que tens&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Teu lar é no reino divino&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Limpinho cheirando alecrim&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-8740046195474474327?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/8740046195474474327/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=8740046195474474327&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/8740046195474474327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/8740046195474474327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2010/01/te-amo-vozinha-fique-bem.html' title='Te Amo Vózinha. Fique Bem!'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-1876474849414605439</id><published>2009-11-26T10:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-27T15:41:11.885-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sem Título I</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;O texto aqui embaixo eu fiz no dia 31/03/09, mas só tive coragem de postá-lo hoje.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;"Quem sou eu?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Quem é essa pessoa que tem um coração batendo no meu peito? Que sofre, chora, rir, se alegra?&lt;br /&gt;Uma adolescente que não sabe o que quer. Tem sua mãe lhe cobrando atitudes, melhoras. Mas ela quer melhorar? E se quer, por que não melhora?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Ainda tem sua médica que não vai mais atendê-la. Tem que ter mais uma perda em seu tratamento.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Mora num bairro que tem vergonha, numa casa que não gosta, não tem privacidade, não tem seu canto, um lugar onde 'tudo é de todo mundo'.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Dá vontade de fugir, desaparecer, sumir do mapa, sem dar explicação. Mas não pode, tem a maldita responsabilidade, o maldito medo."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-1876474849414605439?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/1876474849414605439/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=1876474849414605439&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/1876474849414605439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/1876474849414605439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2009/11/sem-titulo-i.html' title='Sem Título I'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-7464799097571188346</id><published>2009-10-11T12:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-26T10:44:46.605-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Obrigada Marquinhos.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Ontem (10/10) eu tava conversando com meu primo, Marquinhos. enquanto ele configurava o computador, ouviámos músicas, falamos da vida...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Ele me surpreendeu muito, temos um pensamento bastante parecido. Ao comentar coisas que tenho feito, como sou, minha ideologia, me falava coisas muito bonitas, alegres, vivas, me mostrava (de um modo diferente) tudo aquilo que já sabia e que preciso ouvir às vezes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Me encorajou a fazer uma coisa que precisava, mas minha covardia não deixava.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Também mostrou letras de músicas lindas, que me fizeram chorar, mas me mostrava mesmo assim, pra saber como sou e ver que posso e tenho que mudar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Me mostrou uma Lara que não conhecia. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Obrigada de verdade Kiko (Marquinhos, Marcos...).&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-7464799097571188346?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/7464799097571188346/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=7464799097571188346&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/7464799097571188346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/7464799097571188346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2009/10/obrigada-marquinhos.html' title='Obrigada Marquinhos.'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-3775004471620344360</id><published>2009-10-08T21:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-26T10:48:01.678-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Privacidade</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;A um tempo atrás passei por uma situação bem chata.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Na casa onde moro não tenho privacidade. Não tenho mesmo. A única hora que consigo ficar sozinha é quando subo pra ouvir música, isso quando minha irmã, Maíra, não resolve subir também, com o objetivo de me irritar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Fico no 'meu' quarto, deitada, na minha cama, viajando em meus pensamentos, escrevendo, lendo. Esse é o MEU momento, só MEU, me sinto bem, esqueço do mundo, dos problemas e fico acordada aproveitando cada minuto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Esse 'meu' quarto não tem porta, e é aí que vem a FALTA de privacidade. - "Pra que porta? Não precisa." - Isso me dói muito. Quando morava em apartamentos (morei em vários) tinham portas em todos os quartos. Eu podia falar sozinha sem o constrangimento de alguém me ouvir, ver. Mas tenho que adaptar-me com a atual situação.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Nesse 'meu' quarto (sem porta) durmo sozinha com meu pequeno rádio na mesinha de cabeceira. Lá é o único lugar da casa que consigo chamar de 'MEU', mesmo não sendo a única dona. Na hora de dormir é uma das melhores horas do dia. Deito-me, ligo o rádio, as vezes leio ou escrevo antes, e acabo dormindo. É assim todos os dias e não me encomodo com ESSA rotina.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;[Voltando ao assunto. Sempre me perco] Eu estava na sala (primeiro andar), fiquei um pouco conversando com vovó. Meu celular, que estava do lado de minha cama (quarto - segundo andar) tocou, minha irmã avisou-me. Não corrir pra atender, já era tarde e queria falar com ninguém. Logo depois subi pra pegá-lo. Vejo a Maíra deitada no 'meu' quarto, na minha cama. Fiquei parada por uns 2 segundos, peguei meu diário, caneta, celular e desci (tenho motivos pra não deixar, sobre hipótese alguma, meu diário no mesmo lugar que minha irmã mais do que 10 segundos).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Vê-la deitada na minha cama me irritou, assustou, doeu. Não só pelo fato de não ter me pedido, mas também por ser meu templo, é meu canto onde tenho minha rotina sagrada à noite. Me senti invadida, roubada, destruida. Não estava no meu espaço, perdi a única coisa que é minha nessa casa, 'meu' quarto, com minha cama. Ela estava deitada roubando esse meu espaço, meu cheiro, minha alma, minhas vidas, sonhos, pensamento, segredos, PRIVACIDADE.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;No dia seguinte, na hora de dormir, entrei no quarto, não senti meu cheiro, não o reconheci. Na cama ainda a via, não consigui deitar. Aproveitei que minha mãe não dormiu em casa e dormir na sua cama, com o seu travesseiro, pra sentir seu calor, cheiro. Assim tentei reencontrar o meu, pra depois espalhá-lo pela minha cama de volta.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Nem reclamei com a Maíra, muito menos com minha mãe. Não valeria à pena, eu só taria sendo egoísta, mesquinha. Mas acho que não foi bom, pois depois desse dia tiveram tantos outros. E me veio os mesmos sentimentos, dores, a mesma revolta. E continuei sem falar nada. Sofro calada.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-3775004471620344360?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/3775004471620344360/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=3775004471620344360&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/3775004471620344360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/3775004471620344360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2009/10/privacidade.html' title='Privacidade'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-5607241588025671626</id><published>2009-10-07T20:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-26T10:48:29.165-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mudança de Última Hora.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Eu tava pronta pra postar um texto que fiz. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Não era bonito, mas gostei dele, era exatamente o que sentia.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Só que acabei de receber um recado que fez eu desistir não só de divulgar o texto mas como de acreditar em tudo que aprendi com a pessoa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Não. Ele não está errado, sei disso. Só que não gostei da forma que me escreveu. Sou muito sentimental, fresca, careta, e isso me faz reagir asssim. Milhões de pessoas chamam minha atenção por isso e quase me obrigam a mudar, mas, PORRA, não consigo. Sofro por qualquer coisa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Desculpa por chateá-lo, jamais foi minha intenção. Fiz isso porque achei melhor. Não gosto das coisas que falo, não gosto de ficar à vista. E ali, todos veêm, podem me criticar, zoar... Tenho medo, principalmente medo das pessoas. Tenho motivos por isso.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Meu coração tá apertado, dói. Não sei por quê. Não gosto que as pessoas fiquem chateadas comigo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Minha admiração não acabará. Muito menos essa sensação de que: 'Pra todas as minhas perguntas, você terá a resposta certa'. Continuarei lendo os textos, visitando o blog. E prometo não aparecer mais lá. Pelo mesmo motivo do qual nunca mudou, desde quando 'apareci': Quero chatear NINGUÉM, muito menos criar inimigos, pertubar, arrumar confusão...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-5607241588025671626?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/5607241588025671626/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=5607241588025671626&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/5607241588025671626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/5607241588025671626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2009/10/musanca-de-ultima-hora.html' title='Mudança de Última Hora.'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-7701822132946434001</id><published>2009-09-15T12:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-13T12:16:03.519-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Deficiência</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;"'&lt;strong&gt;Deficiente'&lt;/strong&gt; é aquele que não consegue modificar sua vida, aceitando as &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;imposições de outras pessoas ou de sociedade em que vive, sem ter consciência &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;de&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt; que é dono do seu destino.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;'&lt;strong&gt;Louco' &lt;/strong&gt;é quem não procura ser feliz com o que possui.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'Cego'&lt;/strong&gt; é aquele que não vê seu próximo morrer de frio, de fome, de miséria, e só tem olhos para seus míseros problemas e pequenas dores.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'Surdo'&lt;/strong&gt; é aquele que não tem tempo de ouvir um desabafo de um amigo, ou o apelo de um irmão. Pois está sempre apressado para trabalho e quer garantir seus tostões no fim do mês.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'Mudo' &lt;/strong&gt;é aquele que não consegue falar o que sente e se esconde por trás da máscara da hipocrisia.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'Paralítico' &lt;/strong&gt;é quem não consegue andar na direção daqueles que precisam de sua ajuda.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'Diabético'&lt;/strong&gt; é quem não consegue ser doce.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'Anão' &lt;/strong&gt;é quem não sabe deixar o amor crescer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;E, finalmente, a pior das deficiências é ser miserável, pois:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'Miseráveis'&lt;/strong&gt; São todos que não consegues falar com Deus."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Mário Quintana&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-7701822132946434001?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/7701822132946434001/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=7701822132946434001&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/7701822132946434001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/7701822132946434001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2009/09/deficiencia.html' title='Deficiência'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-4542312753315576618</id><published>2009-09-12T16:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T11:50:58.523-07:00</updated><title type='text'>'Aprendendo a Viver' - Clarice Lispector</title><content type='html'>&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"'É Preciso Pará'&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: arial;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Estou com saudade de mim. Ando pouco recolhida, atendendo demais ao telefone,&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: arial;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;escrevo depressa, vivo depressa. Onde está eu?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Preciso fazer um retiro espiritual e encont&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;rar-me enfim - enfim, mas que medo - de mim &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; mesma.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'Mais do que Jogo de Palavras'&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; O que sinto eu não ajo. O que ajo não penso. O que penso não sinto. Do que sei sou &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; ignorante. Do que sinto não ignoro. Não me entendo e ajo como se me entendesse.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'Vergonha de Viver' (Trecho)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: arial;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Há pessoas que têm vergonha de viver: são os tímidos, entre os quais me incluo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: arial;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Desculpem, por exemplo, estar tomando lugar no espaço. Desculpem eu ser eu. Quero &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: arial;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; ficar só! grita a alma do tímido que só se liberta na solidão. Contraditoriamente quer o &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: arial;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; quente aconchego das pessoas. Vai, Carlos, vai ser &lt;em&gt;gauche&lt;/em&gt; na vida. (Não sei se estou &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: arial;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; citando Drummond do modo certo, escrevo de cor.)"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc66cc; font-family: arial; font-size: 78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;Todos os trechos a cima foram tirados do livro 'Aprendendo a Viver' de Clarice Lispector&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-4542312753315576618?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/4542312753315576618/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=4542312753315576618&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/4542312753315576618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/4542312753315576618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2009/09/e-preciso-para-estou-com-saudade-de-mim.html' title='&apos;Aprendendo a Viver&apos; - Clarice Lispector'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-7714514914677400636</id><published>2009-08-24T17:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T16:58:31.976-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Alguém sabe dizer o que é normal? Pode parecer tão natural."</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Quem me conhece sabe que acompanho alguns blogs, e se não sabe é sinal que não te pertubo muito, sinta-se sortudo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;É impressionante o quanto tem gente foda escrevendo pela internet. Essas pessoas me dão 'medo'. Porque elas conseguem colocar em palavras tudo aquilo que sinto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Como? A maioria eu nem se quer conheço, nunca vi na minha vida, mas 'conhecem' todos os meus sentimentos. Que loucura!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Será que não sou a única a ter esses sentimentos?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Não preciso dizer quais sãos os blogs porque estão todos aqui do lado. Uma me decepcionou, bastante, disse que se 'aposentará' um pouco, aquelas palavras de conforto não terei mais. Aquela indignação assustadora, de 'como pensamos parecido!', não terei mais. Infelizmente não posso obrigar ninguém a fazer o que não quer. Droga!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Provavelmente estarei mais presente nesses outros 'esconderijos' do que no meu. Essas pessoas escrevem bem melhor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Termino parabenizando-os. May, Maria, Vinícius, Mari, Lídia. Vocês são demais!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-7714514914677400636?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/7714514914677400636/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=7714514914677400636&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/7714514914677400636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/7714514914677400636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2009/08/alguem-sabe-dizer-o-que-e-normal-pode.html' title='&quot;Alguém sabe dizer o que é normal? Pode parecer tão natural.&quot;'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-6965451071722848022</id><published>2009-08-22T20:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T21:48:09.874-07:00</updated><title type='text'>'Estréia', EMOÇÃO e Agradecimento</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Esse era pra ter sido o meu primeiro post, mas não foi. :/&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pra estreiar meu blog tive várias idéias. E ao som de Jay Vaquer ('Você Não Me Conhece') decidi estreiá-lo de uma forma especial. &lt;em&gt;Mas por motivos (não relevantes) estreiei com outro.&lt;/em&gt; Mas vai aqui o 'verdadeiro':&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Obrigada, muito obrigada. É o que consigo dizer, escrever aqui.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nunca fui de ter muitos amigos, mas tive uma que foi importante na minha vida, e que hoje não falo nem 'Oi'. E isso ainda me dói muito. Pensei que nunca fosse ter uma amizade assim de novo, uma amizade sincera, alegre, sem pudores, sem medo, uma amizade que mais pareciamos irmãs, em que não tinha receio de dizer algo (negativo ou possitivo). E vi que estava enganada.&lt;br /&gt;Sei que uma amizade demora a ser construída, e não é fácil ter uma, só que a cada dia vejo duas, em especial, crescer. Uma (CUMPLICE) mora 'perto', meiga, trasparente, que a pouco conversei e descobri que somos mais parecidas do que pensávamos, que tem um talento de cantar, compôr, de expressar extamente o que sinto (que nem mesmo eu tenho) e suas palavras confortam-me. A outra (CULPADA) mora longe, muito longe, mas a sinto tão próxima. Nossas conversas, idéias, trocas de conhecimento, debates, desabafos, faz com que eu cresça como ser humano. Suas poesias me arrepiam, uma artista maravilhosa, escreve lindamente e arrepio a cada lida. Digo: "Quero ser que nem você quando crescer". :P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Impossível lembrar-me de momentos de alegria com essas duas e as lágrimas não caírem, emociono-me sim, sinto saudade, sinto o quanto elas são especiais. Uma mistura de sentimentos invade-me o peito, aperta, dói, logo me vem em mente o rosto de cada uma exibindo seu melhor sorriso, esbanjando felicidade. Me sinto feliz também, como não sentir?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enfim, perdi o 'fio da meada'... Esse post é pra AGRADECER as duas meninas responsáveis por esse espaço existir, e ser assim tão bonito. A idéia foi da 'culpada', é o MEU PRESENTE DE ANIVERSÁRIO, o melhor de toda minha vida, sem dúvida. Esclareço que seu mérito é maior. Mas a 'cumplice' também merece o seu. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sei que não preciso colocar nomes, elas sabem que são delas que falo. Meninas: &lt;strong&gt;AMO VOCÊS. &lt;/strong&gt;Obrigada pela valioza amizade, espero nunca desapontá-las.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-6965451071722848022?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/6965451071722848022/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=6965451071722848022&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/6965451071722848022'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/6965451071722848022'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2009/08/estreia-emocao-e-agradecimento.html' title='&apos;Estréia&apos;, EMOÇÃO e Agradecimento'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-8854464525610962346</id><published>2009-08-10T12:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T17:50:07.964-07:00</updated><title type='text'>19 anos?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;É, meu aniversário chegou (13 de agosto). Isso significa que tenho 19 anos, mas isso não significa que tenho responsabilidade (até porque infelizmente sempre tive muita), nem que já seja uma mulher, que tenho decisões feitas, opniões formadas. Ao contrário de muita gente, eu não acho que a idade interfere, diz, estipula alguma coisa na vida de uma pessoa. Tenho 19 anos e ainda sou uma criança. Tenho a esperança, sonhos, olhos de criança. E quero manter-me assim por toda vida.&lt;br /&gt;Em algumas atitudes sou uma adolescente de uns 14, 15 anos. Sendo meio rebelde, malcriada, como não tive essa fase nessa idade... Acho que minha 'crise de adolescente' está meio atrasada. :P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19 anos e ainda tenho milhares pontos de interrogação na minha cabeça, não me 'achei' nesse mundo, não sei qual é minha vocação (se é que tenho uma), não sei direito quem sou. Então qual é a diferença de ter 19 anos? Não sei, tentarei descobrir.&lt;br /&gt;Comemorar? Animada não estou, mesmo assim quero ver pessoas que amo reunidas, sorrindo, brincando, felizes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Esse vai ser meu presente.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2693385195839213416-8854464525610962346?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/8854464525610962346/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=8854464525610962346&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/8854464525610962346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/8854464525610962346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2009/08/19-anos.html' title='19 anos?'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2693385195839213416.post-1668626033623045063</id><published>2009-08-03T12:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T13:01:24.190-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Parabéns, Larinha!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Antes de qualquer coisa, não pense que fiz esse blog querendo de alguma forma te obrigar a publicar, isso fica totalmente à seu critério! Você pode escrever e deixar tudo nos rascunhos, pode não escrever, pode divulgar, pode não divulgar, pode mudar o que quiser (inclusive o BACANA ali que tanto te irrita hehe).. vou te deixar por depo no orkut, o usuário e a senha daqui viu, então vamos lá..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Como não vou poder estar presente aí, comemorando seu aniversário.. decidi que precisava fazer alguma coisa pra não mandar apenas aquele scrap/depo desejando felicidades, pq o que eu te desejo.. vai muito além disso.&lt;br /&gt;Você sabe que se tornou uma parte essencial da minha vida, cada conversa, cada bronca, cada sorriso, cada lágrima, cada mico, cada música que compartilhamos.. vão ficar eternamente na memória, são momentos únicos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Te amo muito. Tens uma importância em minha vida muito grande, sabes disso. [2]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rastro Colorido - Jarleo Barbosa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Traça tua felicidade&lt;br /&gt;com rabiscos leves e sensatos&lt;br /&gt;a cada dia&lt;br /&gt;a cada passo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;monta tua satisfação&lt;br /&gt;desmontando teus demônios&lt;br /&gt;pouco a pouco&lt;br /&gt;durante o sono&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sonha com vôos mais altos&lt;br /&gt;porque tú és ave&lt;br /&gt;e podes com o abismo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;anda nesta ponte que é a vida&lt;br /&gt;altivamente&lt;br /&gt;conscientemente&lt;br /&gt;e ocasionalmente&lt;br /&gt;chora tua dor&lt;br /&gt;pra não deixares de sorrir&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;segue calma&lt;br /&gt;ouvindo tua alma&lt;br /&gt;pois só assim tú sorrirás&lt;br /&gt;antes de fechares os olhos pra vida&lt;br /&gt;e abri-los pra deus&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May&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/2693385195839213416-1668626033623045063?l=presentedalara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/feeds/1668626033623045063/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2693385195839213416&amp;postID=1668626033623045063&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/1668626033623045063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2693385195839213416/posts/default/1668626033623045063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://presentedalara.blogspot.com/2009/08/parabens-larinha.html' title='Parabéns, Larinha!!'/><author><name>Lara Cervasio</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08857223439425679692</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLahmsevsC4/Th2etzEavII/AAAAAAAAACU/YrzxlVit6ZQ/s220/DSC02531.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry></feed>
