<?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-8651343638659996176</id><updated>2012-02-17T02:54:39.085Z</updated><category term='online'/><category term='prompt'/><category term='vida'/><category term='novo'/><category term='red'/><category term='poem'/><category term='tempo'/><category term='vermelho'/><category term='028'/><category term='blood'/><category term='quarto'/><category term='vela'/><category term='poema'/><category term='escuro'/><category term='sangue'/><title type='text'>Momentos</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>18</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-4496735008131569226</id><published>2012-01-19T19:25:00.002Z</published><updated>2012-01-19T19:26:54.930Z</updated><title type='text'>Test Post</title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://img717.imageshack.us/img717/4152/testcopyo.png" /&gt;&lt;img src="http://img717.imageshack.us/img717/4152/testcopyo.png" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://img717.imageshack.us/img717/4152/testcopyo.png" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Test,test&lt;b&gt;Test,test!&lt;/b&gt;&lt;i&gt;Test,test!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strike&gt;Test,test!&lt;/strike&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strike&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strike&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8651343638659996176-4496735008131569226?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/4496735008131569226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2012/01/test-post.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/4496735008131569226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/4496735008131569226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2012/01/test-post.html' title='Test Post'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-4132821688680844751</id><published>2010-08-13T01:09:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-08-13T01:29:59.731+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='028'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='online'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prompt'/><title type='text'>Online - Prompt 028.</title><content type='html'>You control me, my emotions, the way I feel, wake up and go to sleep. It happened before, we became friends as soon as we met. People don’t quite believe that someone can make friends without being face to face with the person involved, they don’t want to know that two people can click even without being close enough to reach for each other’s hand, even knowing that not even one day in their lives they will see each other, in other then pictures or videos, but we believed and we knew and we carried on with something that looked so promising, so good. You believed and I did so too. I trusted in you, told you the secrets my heart held, and after a while for a little nothing things set off and we felt apart, for months. It was not hard, maybe for a while,the first week or so I missed you,but then I got used to it. I had other people, other friends, people I trusted and loved and that I knew that would be there to catch me when I would eventually fall again, even if just with a single word.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time passed,we changed and some day you appeared again  in my life. I never quit stopped trusting you, liking you,sort of being a friend in a distance, someone you didn’t talk to. Words became phrases, sentences turned into long hours through days and nights and soon months started passing by. Every time a new year starts I promise myself so much, I feel so full of energy, love, hopes and you where there, right in that time and I let you in,once again,right into my heart,my spirit and my mind.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Months went by and by and everything was going so great, but part of me kept shouting to don’t go forward with my two feet at the same time, to always keep one behind to prevent me from fall. I knew right from the start that something was meant to happen, something that would hurt me,bring me down but I never thought it would be this way.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all went down with something simple,something ridiculous and I spent my hours before sleeping crying. I would smile through the days,laugh and jump because I could not tell the people around me I was feeling awful, that I missed you, that you were one of the greatest friends I ever did and that I needed you there for a lot of reasons that I can’t even bring myself to talk about. Hours passed,days, so long,so much time and my pain grew.We felt apart for something trivial and then you stepped forward, when I believed it was mostly lost and you told me what you thought,what you believed and I cried and you knew,but you still had no idea how much I was hurt and how much I couldn’t tell. I kept with a broken heart,holding the pieces together and I smiled for you,talked with you,and pretended I was ok, that everything was fine.I told so many lies to myself that part of me started believing, but reason would always bring me back to reality.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until this day I don’t quite believe we solved this,I don’t know if we ever will,at least how we need it to be solved. We are proud,we are not easy and our personalities are so strong and complex that I don’t even know how to bring myself to talk with you about this things. I don’t want to hurt you,I don’t want to be brutally honest with you. You are my fragile sweet half, I adore you, I need you in my life and you should know that better.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The story is not over, and I hope that this will end just like it should,not with a ‘happily ever after’, but with a smile and a virtual hug, because we came to realize we are two stubborn spirits that happened to cross each others path, and that we need each other more then what we actually realize… This is how I hope that story ends.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;[prompt list 001/100]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&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/8651343638659996176-4132821688680844751?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/4132821688680844751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2010/08/online-prompt-028.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/4132821688680844751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/4132821688680844751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2010/08/online-prompt-028.html' title='Online - Prompt 028.'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-7060272542072370219</id><published>2010-08-06T00:23:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-08-06T00:23:54.553+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Sometimes i feel the desperate need to hold to something,to someone.Feel like life is stable,like nothing will thorn me apart,that my feet will keep me firmly attached to the ground,i want to believe that i can step ahead with eyes closed and believe i won't fall,that i won't go another step down. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I used to be like this,unafraid,secure of myself,jumping ahead with my eyes closed,not caring,living each day carefree.Then it changed,life changed,years passed by,i had to grow up fast,be an adult too young,and even knowing i don't regret any of the things i did,i would like to partly be as i was,instead of this little insecure girl,hiding behind laughter,smiles,jumps,loud talks and strong masks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8651343638659996176-7060272542072370219?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/7060272542072370219/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2010/08/sometimes-i-feel-desperate-need-to-hold.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/7060272542072370219'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/7060272542072370219'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2010/08/sometimes-i-feel-desperate-need-to-hold.html' title=''/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-2748934748135768207</id><published>2010-02-08T23:31:00.005Z</published><updated>2010-08-13T01:12:26.388+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prompt'/><title type='text'>100 Prompts</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;Here is the list of 100 Prompts that I undertake to comply! &lt;/i&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;001.&lt;/span&gt;Immortal&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;002.&lt;/span&gt;Sway&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;003.&lt;/span&gt;Sticks and Stones&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;004.&lt;/span&gt;Museum&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;005.&lt;/span&gt;Practical&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;006.&lt;/span&gt;Over&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;007.&lt;/span&gt;Speak&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;008.&lt;/span&gt;White noise&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;009.&lt;/span&gt;Snow storm&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;010.&lt;/span&gt;Present&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;011.&lt;/span&gt;Quitting&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;012.&lt;/span&gt;Paint&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;013.&lt;/span&gt;Freak out&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;014.&lt;/span&gt;Home alone&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;015.&lt;/span&gt;Haunted&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;016.&lt;/span&gt;Moonlight&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;017.&lt;/span&gt;Front&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;018.&lt;/span&gt;Queue&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;019.&lt;/span&gt;Bus&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;020.&lt;/span&gt;Stare&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;021.&lt;/span&gt;Massage&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;022.&lt;/span&gt;Wine&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;023.&lt;/span&gt;Searching&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;024.&lt;/span&gt;Toxic&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;025.&lt;/span&gt;Forget&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;026.&lt;/span&gt;Stripped&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;027.&lt;/span&gt;Cheating&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;028.&lt;/span&gt;Online&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;029.&lt;/span&gt;Climbing&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;030.&lt;/span&gt;Speed&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;031.&lt;/span&gt;Eating out&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;032.&lt;/span&gt;Admire&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;033.&lt;/span&gt;Thrilled&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;034.&lt;/span&gt;Shadow&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;035.&lt;/span&gt;Coming home&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;036.&lt;/span&gt;Anywhere&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;037.&lt;/span&gt;Lonely road&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;038.&lt;/span&gt;Electrify&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;039.&lt;/span&gt;Coffee break&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;040.&lt;/span&gt;Chained&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;041.&lt;/span&gt;Watermelon&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;042.&lt;/span&gt;Paper&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;043.&lt;/span&gt;Endangered&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;044.&lt;/span&gt;Fragrant&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;045.&lt;/span&gt;Wasted&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;046.&lt;/span&gt;Sheltered&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;047.&lt;/span&gt;Nosebleed&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;048.&lt;/span&gt;Cuddle&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;049.&lt;/span&gt;Fireplace&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;050.&lt;/span&gt;Played for a fool&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;051.&lt;/span&gt;Fireflies&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;052.&lt;/span&gt;Pills&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;053.&lt;/span&gt;Endless night&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;054.&lt;/span&gt;Crawl&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;055.&lt;/span&gt;Invisible&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;056.&lt;/span&gt;Wealth&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;057.&lt;/span&gt;Power&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;058.&lt;/span&gt;Desolate&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;059.&lt;/span&gt;Tissues&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;060.&lt;/span&gt;Varnish&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;061.&lt;/span&gt;Careful&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;062.&lt;/span&gt;Dirty&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;063.&lt;/span&gt;Circus&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;064.&lt;/span&gt;Engagement&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;065.&lt;/span&gt;Junction&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;066.&lt;/span&gt;Barren&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;067.&lt;/span&gt;Lipstick&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;068.&lt;/span&gt;Shirt&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;069.&lt;/span&gt;Shortbread&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;070.&lt;/span&gt;Groceries&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;071.&lt;/span&gt;Speakers&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;072.&lt;/span&gt;Under the influence&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;073.&lt;/span&gt;Odd socks&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;074.&lt;/span&gt;Spatula&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;075.&lt;/span&gt;Watching&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;076.&lt;/span&gt;Sweat&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;077.&lt;/span&gt;Closer&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;078.&lt;/span&gt;Turning point&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;079.&lt;/span&gt;Mercy&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;080.&lt;/span&gt;Under pressure&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;081.&lt;/span&gt;News&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;082.&lt;/span&gt;Candy&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;083.&lt;/span&gt;Rain&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;084.&lt;/span&gt;Whistle&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;085.&lt;/span&gt;Needful things&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;086.&lt;/span&gt;Lawyers&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;087.&lt;/span&gt;Park bench&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;088.&lt;/span&gt;Locked&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;089.&lt;/span&gt;Tongue-tied&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;090.&lt;/span&gt;Marzipan&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;091.&lt;/span&gt;Butterflies&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;092.&lt;/span&gt;Winners and Losers&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;093.&lt;/span&gt;Abducted&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;094.&lt;/span&gt;Plugged&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;095.&lt;/span&gt;Carefree&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;096.&lt;/span&gt;Writer's Choice&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;097.&lt;/span&gt;Writer's Choice&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;098.&lt;/span&gt;Writer's Choice&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"&gt;099.&lt;/span&gt;Writer's Choice&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;100.Writer's Choice&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;                                                                                                                                                                                          &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8651343638659996176-2748934748135768207?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/2748934748135768207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2010/02/100-prompts.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/2748934748135768207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/2748934748135768207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2010/02/100-prompts.html' title='100 Prompts'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-2442036300103740115</id><published>2010-02-08T23:05:00.003Z</published><updated>2010-02-10T15:31:18.368Z</updated><title type='text'>Back</title><content type='html'>Momentos, was created in the early moments of 2007 aiming to serve a 16 years old girl and her strange views of life through words.&lt;div&gt;Since 2008 that this blog has been on hiatus, and only now I decided to take this step of re-opening this place, because i finally feel the urge of writting again, the need to express myself into words because that is one of the things i know how to do best.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Formly this blog would be only written in Portuguese language, but from now on, and since i have more foreign contacts and friends, this blog will be written in English.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To start in a nice way i'll post a list of promps that i'll dare myself to complete, in form of ficlets, poems or any other way i may like to express.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The pictures used on this blog, unless stated, belong exclusively to me, i made them myself and not got them anywhere else, so i would be thankful if you would not take them without permission.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Opinions and constructive criticism are more then welcome, they are a fabulous way to grow and i'm happy to receive them, as well as any other kind of comments, as long as they are not rude.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh well, Momentos is back in business, and i just hope you'll like it as much as i do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Joana.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8651343638659996176-2442036300103740115?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/2442036300103740115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2010/02/back.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/2442036300103740115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/2442036300103740115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2010/02/back.html' title='Back'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-2474199823529361727</id><published>2008-01-02T01:58:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-01-03T14:16:36.105Z</updated><title type='text'>Agora sim</title><content type='html'>Finalmente chegou, um novo ano, um novo dia,uma nova alvorada e uma nova opurtunidade para o começar de uma nova vida.Este ano vai ser diferente,vai ser marcante.Agora sim estou pronta e o mundo está preparado para me receber.2008 começa,agora!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8651343638659996176-2474199823529361727?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/2474199823529361727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2008/01/agora-sim.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/2474199823529361727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/2474199823529361727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2008/01/agora-sim.html' title='Agora sim'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-9163159755688431464</id><published>2008-01-01T00:01:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-01-03T14:15:55.535Z</updated><title type='text'>Só mais um</title><content type='html'>Só mais um ano que começar para completar a nossa colecção de uma vida.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Feliz 2008.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8651343638659996176-9163159755688431464?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/9163159755688431464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2008/01/s-mais-um.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/9163159755688431464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/9163159755688431464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2008/01/s-mais-um.html' title='Só mais um'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-5542265165040873724</id><published>2007-09-21T12:30:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-09-21T12:32:12.164+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Ponto</title><content type='html'>Mais um ponto numa colecção de pontos que fazem uma vida.&lt;br /&gt;Deixei de lado as novas mensagem e actualizações constantes aonde não tinha nada para dizer.&lt;br /&gt;Agora,eu, Joana Cardoso estou aqui, e estou de volta. Só porque quero outro ponto na coelcção de pontos que fazem a minha vida.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8651343638659996176-5542265165040873724?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/5542265165040873724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/09/ponto.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/5542265165040873724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/5542265165040873724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/09/ponto.html' title='Ponto'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-8821895984036820759</id><published>2007-06-26T01:50:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-08-13T00:08:11.165+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Liberdade?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Liberta-se dessa sede de correr mundo em busca de um conhecimento supremo e poderoso caído num mero esquecimento global ou ideológico. Tens os olhos vendados a mente corrompida e não respiras o mesmo ar que os sábios que transportam na sua mente uma ideia tão quase perfeitamente criada que se torna de certo modo perigosa.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;De que te serve a ti, homem, o saber dos ancestrais ou o poder dos futuros? Fazes tudo aquilo que vês e sentes e não deixas nada seguir o seu certo e natural caminho. Mas porrquê?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Liberdade?Neste mundo?Só quando dormes e sonhas, só quando podes ser criança e cantar com as cotovias. Esquece-te da ilusão, foge do real e cria um mundo só teu.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8651343638659996176-8821895984036820759?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/8821895984036820759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/06/liberdade.html#comment-form' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/8821895984036820759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/8821895984036820759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/06/liberdade.html' title='Liberdade?'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-6899615405892633848</id><published>2007-06-25T16:45:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-08-13T00:25:34.051+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Guarda-me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Fala-me ao ouvido descaradamente palavras de amor ou outras quaisquere. Diz baixinho aquilo que sempre quiseste e mostra-me todo o poder obscurecido guardado num lugar secreto dentro de ti.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Grita alto o meu nome como um sussurro numa noite fechada de verão por entre os cantares de grilos negros que encantam a noite.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Não te movas ou de leve entre os meus dedos. Preciso de te sentir junto a mim nesta dança de paixão. Correremos assim, com passos marcados e bem treinados toda aquele salão de festa que ferve de luxo e ostentação.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A vida é efémera e tudo o que nela existe também, talvez.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Guarda-me o amor que existe dentro do teu peito.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8651343638659996176-6899615405892633848?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/6899615405892633848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/06/guarda-me.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/6899615405892633848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/6899615405892633848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/06/guarda-me.html' title='Guarda-me'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-8881258945050767773</id><published>2007-06-21T11:03:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-08-13T00:25:47.172+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Meu pequeno menino</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:78%;color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Não tentes ser ilusionista dos sonhos de alguém que realmente nunca te mereceu. Para de inventar magias envoltas em noite e em feitiço de beijo prometido e nunca recebido.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Pensas de mais para quem quer que sejas e para aquilo que possivelmente ouves. Deixa-te calado num canto qualquer e aprende a ouvir até o mais puro silêncio.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Esquece-te de promessas vazias que caíram num secreto esquecimento. Mantêm a luz acesa e guia-te nela e por ela. Não corras no mundo, não corras por sonhos nem neles nem com eles. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Abraços apaixonados é coisa de adolescentes, os outros só abraçam por sentirem fraqueza. Não cresças meu menino...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#999999;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;meu pequeno menino&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;.&lt;/span&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/8651343638659996176-8881258945050767773?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/8881258945050767773/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/06/meu-pequeno-menino.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/8881258945050767773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/8881258945050767773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/06/meu-pequeno-menino.html' title='Meu pequeno menino'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-5334887176060079672</id><published>2007-06-16T21:12:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-08-13T00:26:23.909+01:00</updated><title type='text'>ponto.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#999999;"&gt;Finges ser o que tentas parecer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8651343638659996176-5334887176060079672?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/5334887176060079672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/06/ponto.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/5334887176060079672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/5334887176060079672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/06/ponto.html' title='ponto.'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-1127083278357734880</id><published>2007-05-10T18:19:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-05-10T18:26:21.656+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Errada</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Se fugi foi por não ouvi a tua voz chamar ao longe por mim num segundo obscuro que marcava um dia como todos os outros. A cidade em ruínas ergue-se em meu redor e consigo agora sentir o cheiro pétrido do medo e receio de todos aqueles que já aqui habitaram, mas que à muito partiram evaporando-se numa cortina se sombras.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Cinzas e negros pintam cada passo que dou e já não sei mais por onde caminhar. Cada segundo passado aqui é como um pesadelo de uma longa noite na mente de uma criança.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Estou perturbada e confusa, incompreendida por todos aqueles que não fazem o mínimo esforço para me entender.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Se soubessem. Se ao menos soubessem aquilo tudo, aqueles segredos moribundos guardados num profundo segredo. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;E assim me escondo num quarto ou sala que outrora era um grande salão, iluminado por aqueles belos candelabros que vimos na loja da esquina da cidade aonde diziamos morar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;As crianças parecem que ainda brincam perto, dançam alegres e riem  despreocupadas. Tudo isso passou. Uma nova era começa agora e tudo o que já existiu não se encontra aqui, não mais.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Segue me os passos e diz-me se estou errada.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8651343638659996176-1127083278357734880?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/1127083278357734880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/05/errada.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/1127083278357734880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/1127083278357734880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/05/errada.html' title='Errada'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-1707245106927506483</id><published>2007-04-02T12:49:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-04-02T12:56:45.457+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Quero-te</title><content type='html'>Foste levado no tempo que foge e que não volta, não, não volta mais. Como o vento e a brisa foste arrancado do meu regaço enquanto ainda me amavas, enquanto eu te amava.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Puxa,puxa. Gosto,gosto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gosto de estar a teu lado quando estás ao pé de mim.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Volta assim ao de leve, como quem foge, como prisioneiro. Prisioniero do seu mesmo destino. Destino marcado por revelações, não presságio. Paixões.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Quero ,quero. Quero ter-te bem aqui.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leva-me então e faz-me voar, por entre os teus braços. Quentes braços que me aconchegavam. Maõs que me acariciavam. E aqueles dedos tão dóceis que teimavam em brincar com os meus cabelos enquanto eu dormia, bem perto de ti.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Voar, faz-me voar. Volta para aqui,aqui bem perto de mim.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sei que queres, como eu quero, como nós queremos.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quero-te desesperadamente, como uma louca , uma presa. Uma mulher que espera o teu regresso. Que te quer bem perto. Sentir-te. O teu corpo, a tua respiração, o teu coração que bate no peito apertado contra o meu. O beijo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Dá-me,dá-me.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dá-me mais, mais um bocadinho de-se amor. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beija-me esta boca pecadora que espera por ti ansiosamente e que se deixa envolver numa outra aventura quando regressas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8651343638659996176-1707245106927506483?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/1707245106927506483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/04/quero-te.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/1707245106927506483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/1707245106927506483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/04/quero-te.html' title='Quero-te'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-3672206158852706186</id><published>2007-03-29T16:41:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-03-29T16:51:54.808+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Volta</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Visitas ancestrais chegam sem bater a porta e entram sem serem convidadas. Estou naquele sofá no canto da sala ao fundo do corredor aonde só eu sei. Nada mais há aqui. Nem cadeira, nem mesa, nem qualquer candelabro antigo que possa iluminar este pequeno pedaço de Mundo que alguém esqueceu.&lt;br /&gt;Tento lembrar-me das recordações vividas, agora apagadas da minha memória que teima em não voltar.&lt;br /&gt;Suspiros que teimam em diambular loucamente pelo resto da casa, fazem-me arrepiar a cada novo som.&lt;br /&gt;As portas rangem, as janelas batem, mas a tarde parece tão bonita, parece de facto não haver qualquer brisa lá fora. Levanto-me devagar, vou divagando pela sala, procura a porta, olho o corredor. Longo corredor de imensar portas que levam a imenso quartos que nem eu mesma conheço.&lt;br /&gt;Grito o teu nome, grito e chamo por ti como uma louca, desalmada, convencida de que estás lá.&lt;br /&gt;Os sussuros não são teus, não és tu quem suspiras..Quero acreditar, por favor, faz-me acreditar..Volta,volta agora!Volta para mim!&lt;br /&gt;Corro desvairada pelas escadas em caracol que levam ao nosso sítio secreto, que não é sotão, nem cave, nem quarto, nem sala. Não é lugar algum, é apenas o nosso lugar. Aquele aonde ligavamos o gira-discos e aonde dançavamos longas horas sem fim até a noite voltar e te levar.&lt;br /&gt;Sento-me no nosso tapete ao lado da mesa de chá que ainda guarda as chávenas frias que ali ficaram desde a última vez que te vi partir. Acreditei que voltarias como sempre me prometeste, mas foi em vão.&lt;br /&gt;A noite passou, o dia nasceu e com ele outro dia e outro e outro. Não voltaste. Não sei de ti. Teimo em não quere mais ninguém em teu lugar.&lt;br /&gt;Sabes que foi a ti que me prometi e neste lugar só estramos nós dois. Esperarei, talvez, até ao fim dos tempo. E se no leito da minha morte ainda não tiveres regressado teimarei em ficar aqui, não partirei descansada sem ti.&lt;br /&gt;Se quiseres voltar volta, porque eu preciso de ti.&lt;br /&gt;Tudo isto me assombra e me gasta incessantemente. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Não sei mais o que fazer. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Quero esperar, quero-te de volta para te amar, mas as vozes já chamam por mim. Não quero partir, agora que é noite.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Volta,volta,volta...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8651343638659996176-3672206158852706186?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/3672206158852706186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/03/volta.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/3672206158852706186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/3672206158852706186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/03/volta.html' title='Volta'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-6292618757260582464</id><published>2007-03-23T23:59:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-03-24T00:02:36.590Z</updated><title type='text'>Concepção</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Remodelações numa mente antiga empoeirada, como um livro esquecido pousado numa estante unicamente concebida para apresentar aos outros maravilhosas obras nunca antes abertas, nunca antes contempladas. Pronta para uma introspecção de modo profundo e profano aos locais mais remotos de onde já não brotam aspirações a mais altos sonhos.&lt;br /&gt;Fechada por detrás de uma parede de vidro, uma garrafa de absinto que quero loucamente alcançar para puros fins de loucura e soberba solidão.&lt;br /&gt;Se gritar não sou ouvida, correr não posso porque sei que irei cair tristemente num profundo novo mundo no qual não ouso entrar.&lt;br /&gt;É estranho pensar que neste canto fechado, sujo por cinzas de papel queimado existe ainda um coração que bate num ritmo descompassado sempre que uma brisa passa, acreditando piamente que alguém passará em seu auxílio.&lt;br /&gt;Ocorre-me por vezes se tudo isto é um sonho, uma ilusão maquinada por uma qualquer parte do meu cérebro possivelmente adormecido.&lt;br /&gt;As palpitações de sangue quente que jorravam dos meus pulsos são agora invisíveis em pequenas cicatrizes recozidas numa linha preta que aperta e magoa. Porquê? Será também esta dor parte de um sonho. Quero saber. Preciso de saber.&lt;br /&gt;Ouço palavras remotas de diversas direcções. Aonde estou? Quem sou? Quem afinal sois vós? Respondam-me por favor. Peço em misericórdia e piedade deste corpo parado, marcado pelo tempo e pó que aqui pousou devido à antiguidade de quem sou.&lt;br /&gt;Espírito ou apenas corpo não encarnado, nada interessa, mas por favor deixem-me ser eu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8651343638659996176-6292618757260582464?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/6292618757260582464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/03/concepo.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/6292618757260582464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/6292618757260582464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/03/concepo.html' title='Concepção'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-339023173973277028</id><published>2007-03-17T09:25:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-08-13T00:27:19.986+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vida'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tempo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='escuro'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='quarto'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vela'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='novo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vermelho'/><title type='text'>Vida Nova</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sinto-me invunerável ao passar do tempo e ao veneno que corre na minhas veias. Tenho os olhos inchados, vermelhor de chorar, chorar e gritar...a minha voz está arranhada e dói, dói não posso mais falar. Estou sentada neste canto do quarto aonde as luzes apagadas já não conseguem magoar-me nem sequer ver-me. Afastei-me de tudo e agora..se quiser sair não saio..Não tenho chave nem rumo..tudo foi atirado a longa distância para a imensidão deste quarto negro de paredes vermelhas que não consigo ver. Encostada no meu canto, vou devagar divagando...movo-me aos poucos, o meu corpo já mal sabe andar...toco em tudo aquilo que encontro..ou então que penso encontrar. Sinto uma vela, fininha, pequena que brinca entre os meus dedos..mais ao lado uma caixa..também ela pequena..sim..ainda tem um fósforo deixado por alguém que também aqui esteve antes de mim..será que saiu? Acendo a vela devagar..a luz já não magoa tanto..e olho em volta..uma sala de paredes vermelho sangue..com inúmeras portas..aonde levam? Tento por-me em pé e andar..custa tanto..dói muito..se ao menos aqui estivesses.. Não..chega...penso agora só em mim e no que sou capaz de fazer..sozinha..sim..eu sei que consigo. Com um pim-pam-pum..escolho uma porta então. Sigo devagar..cautelosa e abro-a.. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Ouço um choro..e alguém que sorri de felicidade. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bem-vinda à tua nova vida. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;[comments são bem vindos]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8651343638659996176-339023173973277028?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/339023173973277028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/03/sinto-me-invunervel-ao-passar-do-tempo.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/339023173973277028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/339023173973277028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/03/sinto-me-invunervel-ao-passar-do-tempo.html' title='Vida Nova'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8651343638659996176.post-8865301033978109005</id><published>2007-03-16T09:18:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-03-16T09:20:19.868Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sangue'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poema'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blood'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poem'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vermelho'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='red'/><title type='text'>Laço Vermelho Sangue</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;Sinto-me agora reprimida em comportamento indecentes que invadem o meu espírito ainda tão jovem. Vejo as minhas mãos cravejadas de dor mas sei que tudo não passa de uma perpétua ilusão na qual fui deixado ao desvario, sofrendo insessantemente..vivendo na dor constante. Agora sei que se estivesses lá naquele momento, o meu presente seria talvez indefenido marcado por aquela chávena de chá fumegante que iria ter a meu lado. Lembras-te daqueles sabores? Lembras-te das tardes em que nós os dois..só teu e eu nos deixavamos levar por onde o destino quisesse. Não acredito mais nele..o destino. Fizes-te com que ixto acontecece e sei que agora que se estivesses aqui a meu lado estarias triste pronto a opinar de forma discursica sobre o meu estúpido exagero e cepticismo. Céptica? Não..apenas realista de que aquilo que tenho agora é fruto do que tu deixaste em mim...uma pequena semente que teima em não crescer..Caio em esquecimento, mais tarde..talvez. O meus olhos que vagamente correm este quarto escuro em que me encontro não me guiam a lado nenhum. Esta boca que antes sentia os prazeres carnais da vida, não sabe mais o que o sabor..o beijo. E estas mãos que tudo tocavam como uma criança louca..agora estão aqui paradas..e são brancas..cobertas de fístolas que o tempo não ajuda a sarar e também de mil gotas que as os meus olhos cegos deixaram escorrer. Estou nua, involta em comportamentos indecentes..sei que a única coisa que me resta é o pequeno laço vermelho que deixaste preso ao meu cabelo antes de partir..partir e me deixar aqui. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;(não digam nada..quero descansar..por favor)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Bem-vindos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;xx.Jo&lt;/strong&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/8651343638659996176-8865301033978109005?l=momentos-literary.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/feeds/8865301033978109005/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/03/lao-vermelho-sangue.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/8865301033978109005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8651343638659996176/posts/default/8865301033978109005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momentos-literary.blogspot.com/2007/03/lao-vermelho-sangue.html' title='Laço Vermelho Sangue'/><author><name>Joana Cardoso</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y3BdEgOPVb0/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAABjM/e1KbAomUQXo/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
