<?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-6036519609526702525</id><updated>2012-01-03T14:49:27.946+02:00</updated><title type='text'>my memories, my thoughts, my faded soul... myself...</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>36</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-3518928184045959225</id><published>2011-09-26T13:59:00.016+03:00</published><updated>2011-09-26T17:33:14.082+03:00</updated><title type='text'>despre golurile care nu pot fi umplute...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; line-height: normal; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: black; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: white; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-align: justify; line-height: normal; "&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "&gt;Se spune ca amintirile noastre incep sa se contureze abia pe la varsta de 4 ani insa ale mele pornesc inca de pe la un an. Daca inchid ochii pot sa vad chipuri de mult uitate, sa simt mirosurile copilariei sau gustul prajiturii cu vanilie pe care o facea vecina care s-a prapadit cand aveam eu doar vreo 3 ani.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-align: justify; line-height: normal; "&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "&gt;Inchid si acum ochii si il vad foarte clar pe domnul inalt si blond, cu mustata si ochi verzi asezandu-se la masa din bucataria bunicii... domnul din amintire miroase mosc amestecat cu tutun si, desi lacrimile mi s-au innodat sub barba, el nu se uita spre mine... nu ma vede. Imi amintesc de perna in forma de urs alb-azuriu fara de care nu reuseam sa adorm si pe care o aveam in brate atunci. Imi amintesc de o cladire mare, alba, cu zabrele, cu un miros intepator si de zgomotul copiilor care scanceau in paturile aliniate ca in cazarma, fara perne si cu marginile din fier ridicate... de sentimentul de singuratate si claustrare ingrozitoare pe care il aveam de fiecare data cand trebuia sa adorm la pranz in patul acela... nu reuseam aproape niciodata, ci doar imi tineam ursul strans in brate, cu ochii inchisi si urechile palnie... mai tarziu am aflat ca era cresa la care stateam in timpul zilei. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-align: justify; line-height: normal; "&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "&gt;Imi amintesc de o doamna inalta si slaba, cu parul negru albastrui ondulat care imi explica fara rabdare, cu o voce rece si severa ca nu am voie sa plang si ca nu asa m-a educat ea... era mama... Imi mai amintesc de o rochie din panza alba cu cerculele rosii si portocalii pe care o primisem de la domnul inalt, blond, cu mustata si ochii verzi, rochie care a disparut ca prin minune a doua zi... era de la El, de la barbatul pe care de atunci nu am mai avut voie sa il mentionez... era de la tata... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-align: justify; line-height: normal; "&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "&gt;Aveam mai putin de 2 ani cand mama a decis sa divorteze. Decizia i-a fost aprobata de intreg 'consiliul de familie' iar eu nu l-am mai vazut pe El niciodata. Bunicul i-a luat locul domnului despre care nu aveam voie sa intreb nimic. Categoric, bunicul m-a iubit infinit si, si eu pe el. Relatia cu mama a fost intotdeauna rece in particular si inimaginabil de calda in public. A fost intotdeauna genul de persoana la care nu te duceai sa ii spui despre bucurii si, cu atat mai putin, despre tristeti. Am iubit-o incredibil de mult in ciuda atitudinii glaciale pe care a cultivat-o cu obstinatie in decursul copilariei si adolescentei mele... poate si pentru ca incercam sa o vad cu ochii 'publicului' vrajit de caldura si dedicarea pe care le afisa cu ei si nu cu ochii fetitei care avea nevoie de atentia si iubirea ei. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-align: justify; line-height: normal; "&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "&gt;Se spune despre mine ca am fost genul de copil pe care orice parinte si l-ar fi dorit... ma jucam doar cu ursul alb-azuriu si mai tarziu cu o papusa primita de la Vicky (sora bunicii), nu ceream niciodata nimic (poate doar carti), am bifat cam toate olimpiadele si concursurile posibile, am mers la ce facultate a dorit ea si, in general, am avut una dintre cele mai anoste adolescente cu putinta. Exceptia majora a fost rebeliunea numita "trupa de teatru". Eram prin clasa a X-a cand m-am lasat convinsa sa intru in trupa de teatru a liceului. "Vinovatii", constituiti pana la finele liceului in grupul meu personal de sustinere, au fost dirigintele, directorul si bibliotecara. Mama a aflat ceva mai tarziu, cand deja nu mai avea cum sa impiedice cursul lucrurilor. Isi dorea sa devin medic sau profesor de limba romana (doua profesii atat de diferite pe cat era atitudinea ei acasa si in public) iar activitatile de genul asta i se pareau o pierdere ingrozitoare de timp. Ciudat, mai ales ca toate astea veneau tocmai de la ea, care predase dansuri moderne. A acceptat cu mare dificultate faptul ca participam la concursuri de teatru si doar dupa ce toata lumea i-a explicat ca activitatea asta ma va ajuta sa ma deschid si nu-mi va afecta prestatia scolara. Eram crunt de timida, foarte sensibila, zambeam rar si singura companie in care ma simteam bine era cea a cartilor. La sfarsitul clasei a XII-a a trebuit sa renunt la visul numit actorie si am optat pentru Facultatea de Litere. Sase luni mai tarziu lucram si ma mutasem la mine Acasa. M-am impartit greu intre scoala unde trebuia sa excelez si munca de la birou sau meditatiile de limba romana si engleza. Dar am reusit si, cumva, au fost primii mei ani de libertate... scapasem din colivie si nu-mi ramanea decat sa fiu Eu pentru prima data. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-align: justify; line-height: normal; "&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "&gt;Relatia cu mama a cunoscut diverse urcusuri si coborasuri in decursul anilor. A ales sa nu faca parte din viata mea constant. A ales sa vina si sa plece, sa isi organizeze existenta functie de oricine altcineva, a ales sa nu se bucure cu si pentru mine, a ales sa nu rada sau sa nu planga cu mine si pentru mine, a ales sa nu mearga la cumparaturi sau sa iasa la o cafea cu fiica ei... sunt doar cateva din lucrurile dupa care am tanjit teribil de mult dar fara de care am invatat sa traiesc cu timpul. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-align: justify; line-height: normal; "&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "&gt;Cei care ma cunosc suficient de bine stiu ca anul trecut a fost unul crunt pentru mine. In mod ciudat lucrurile au parut a se aseza la un moment dat iar mama sa fie cumva, la un anumit nivel, subtil,  prezenta... M-am bucurat in sinea mea si am crezut ca am castigat intr-un final parintele pe care mi l-am dorit dintotdeauna... decisesem sa las in urma toate "de ce-urile" dar din pacate m-am inselat si am pierdut din nou ceva ce nu avusesem niciodata... ciudat si trist dar a lasat inca un gol pe care, de data asta, sunt constienta ca nu va avea cu ce sa fie vreodata umplut...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:15.0pt;font-family:&amp;quot;Georgia&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;serif&amp;quot;; mso-fareast-font-family:&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;mso-bidi-font-family:&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; color:black"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; line-height: normal; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&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/6036519609526702525-3518928184045959225?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/3518928184045959225/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2011/09/despre-golurile-care-nu-pot-fi-umplute.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/3518928184045959225'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/3518928184045959225'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2011/09/despre-golurile-care-nu-pot-fi-umplute.html' title='despre golurile care nu pot fi umplute...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-6467228940557122471</id><published>2011-04-19T00:18:00.007+03:00</published><updated>2011-06-14T13:18:37.414+03:00</updated><title type='text'>despre uitare... ganduri... eternele intrebari...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Ai fost vreodata ranit cu adevarat? Te-ai simtit uitat, neiubit, nedorit, alungat din propria viata?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Viata nu e intotdeauna blanda cu noi. Se spune ca daca semeni vant, culegi furtuna... dar ce se intampla cand semeni liniste si pace si ai parte de aceleasi furtuni? Se intampla ca orice ai face si orice ai zice, te alegi cu dureri care nu trec cu algocalmin si, chiar morfina de ai avea la indemana, tot simti ca nu vor trece. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Se intampla ca ceva, o vorba aruncata in vant, un vis, un cosmar, sau pur si simplu ca mintea ta sa hotarasca la un moment dat sa aduca din nou in prim-plan toate vechile angoase si tristeti. Oricat te-ai chinui sa uiti, oricat ti-ai dori sa nu iti amintesti, oricat de mult ai ascunde intamplari de mult apuse, ele se intorc si te bantuie la nesfarsit. Uneori nici terapia nu ajuta si asta daca faci parte din categoria fericitilor care isi permit "luxul" ajutorului specializat.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Ai vrea sa fii departe... departe de tine si de trecutul tau, departe de vechiul eu, departe de copilarie, departe de tot ce ar fi trebuit sa fie frumos si nu a fost. Uneori ranile nu se cicatrizeaza orice am face si alegem sa le punem pe toate, deoparte, intr-o clepsidra uitata si prafuita de timp. Alegem copilareste ca sticla fina din care e facuta clepsidra sa fie paznicul tuturor nefericirilor si durerilor noastre. Alegem sa uitam de vechii Noi si de tot ce am trait candva de teama ca nu cumva toate angoasele trecutului sa se intoarca in prezent perturband astfel fragilul echilibru pe care l-am dobandit cu atata truda. Nu vrem sa mai avem de-a face cu trecutul, rupem din noi bucati importante... chit ca bucatile astea ne reprezinta fiind, de altfel, fundamentele prezentului nostru. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Luptam ani in sir cu amintiri care aleg sa isi faca simtita prezenta cand ne e lumea mai draga. Infasuram clepsidra in cele mai alese matasuri, imbracam trecutul in cele mai colorate vesminte, nu amintim nici macar pentru o clipa de durere, o tainuim... adanc... Doar ca sticla clepsidrei este fragila, spargandu-se cand ne asteptam mai putin... si iarasi rauri, lacuri, mari si oceane de lacrimi incep sa se reverse... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Ce facem atunci oare? Ne rugam ca timpul, in nemarginita lui bunatate, sa ne dea o mana de ajutor? Ne rugam ca zeii sa-si faca mila de noi si sa ne blagosloveasca cu o infinita si binecuvantata uitare? Sau suntem oare condamnati la un trist si etern prezent? Suntem oare condamnati sa traim in inchisoarea propriilor nefericiri la infinit? Exista vreo sansa ca lantul amintirilor noastre triste sa se rupa intr-o buna zi si, astfel, toate durerile sa ramana inchise intr-o bucla atemporala? Cel mai probabil, nu... Asa ca vreau sa cred ca se poate ca intr-o buna zi sa invatam daca nu sa le incorporam in prezent, atunci macar sa le facem fata...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-6467228940557122471?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/6467228940557122471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2011/04/despre-uitare-ganduri-eternele.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/6467228940557122471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/6467228940557122471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2011/04/despre-uitare-ganduri-eternele.html' title='despre uitare... ganduri... eternele intrebari...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-7269244065936552177</id><published>2011-03-29T20:57:00.009+03:00</published><updated>2011-03-30T12:33:34.937+03:00</updated><title type='text'>fericirea e atunci cand...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Adevarata fericire nu are cauza... nu o putem justifica intru totul... ii putem gasi cateva repere dar niciodata pe toate si, cu atat mai putin, radacinile.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Candva credeam ca fericirea e un lucru foarte mare... atat de mare, incat nu avea cum sa incapa in sufletele... mici.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Viata mi-a aratat ca fericirile mele au un comportament atipic: vin cand nu ma astept, stau putin si, de cele mai multe ori, imi dau seama nu ca "sunt", ci ca "au fost"... asa ca azi m-am hotarat sa fac un mic inventar...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Cu totii am auzit de nenumarate ori expresia "fericirea sta in lucrurile mici"... Eu, de pilda, am crezut multa vreme (si de cele mai multe ori mi-am si justificat credinta) ca e o gogoasa mancata de cei care n-au avut suficient curaj sa mearga mai sus, sau servita celor mult prea preocupati de propriile vise de marire ca sa observe &lt;/span&gt;cand au cazut primii fulgi de zapada, cand au infrunzit copacii sau cand au aparut primii ghiocei. Ei bine, de-atatea ori mi-a fost mie servita "gogoasa", incat, pana la urma, am mancat-o... dupa ce-am vazut ca nu-i tocmai rea, am stat putin stramb, am judecat drept si-am realizat ca refuzasem atata timp sa inghit... adevarul.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Cei mai multi dintre noi ne petrecem jumatate din timp muncind si cealalta jumatate plangandu-ne de cat de obositi fizic si psihic suntem. Muncim, nutrind speranta ca ajungand mai sus, mai bine, mai bogati, vom fi si fericiti. Dar cand ajungem in varf, ne miram ca acolo sus, pe culmile muncii noastre, unde ar trebui sa culegem roadele, nu ne asteapta nimic... nu mai avem nimic... si asta doar pentru ca pe anevoiosul drum al maririi ne-am lepadat de tot ce ne impiedica sa atingem culmea... familie, prieteni, iubire... intr-un cuvant... fericire.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Nu sunt putine situatiile cand despre o Ea cu un maxim potential (atat afectiv, cat si profesional) am auzit spunandu-se la momentul culmii gloriei sale profesionale ca este isterica, gajaita, neimplinita... trista. Asa cum nu sunt putine situatiile cand despre un El cu la fel de mult potential am auzit sau constatat ca pe culmile gloriei lui a sacrificat tot ce insemna afect, ajungand ca noaptea sa se bucure de inegalabila companie a... pernei (asta, evident, nu atunci cand se bucura de compania vreunei domnisoare pasagere prin viata lui).&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Am fost intrebata relativ recent la ce as putea renunta pentru a-mi implini ambitiile profesionale... raspund la fel ca si atunci, scurt si la obiect... mi-e greu sa spun la ce as putea renunta... e mai simplu sa spun la ce nu as putea... nu as putea renunta la fericire!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Dar, totusi, ce-o fi fericirea asta, de-i tot dam in sus si-n jos cu ea? Fericirea-i o stare de gratie... de beatitudine... zic eu... Sau, asa cum spun copiii, fericirea e atunci cand... te trezesti dimineata cu soarele gadilandu-ti nasul... atunci cand proportia perfecta se afla in ceasca ta de cafea... atunci cand ai cu cine sa imparti ultima tigara din pachet... atunci cand iti suna telefonul si la capatul celalalt e... insasi fericirea... fericirea e atunci cand te bucuri de primii fulgi de nea (cu toate ca detesti frigul)... atunci cand afara sunt -10 grade si tu sorbi linistit dintr-o ceasca de ceai fierbinte... fericirea-i atunci cand cineva iti mai cere o portie din placinta pe care tu te-ai straduit sa o faci... fericirea e atunci cand nu te deranjeaza ca ploua... cand te bucuri de o plimbare desculta prin iarba udata de roua unei dimineti tarzii... fericirea e atunci cand printre mailuri ratacite gasesti un Gand ce te-astepta sa te bucure... fericirea-i atunci cand matza vine si-si face loc langa tine seara tarziu... tu cu o carte buna, ea cu vesnicul ei tors... fericirea-i atunci cand cand asculti marea... cand te trezesti devreme pentru a prinde rasaritul... cand ai in bratele cui sa te ghemuiesti... fericirea-i atunci cand... iubesti...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Lista ar putea continua la nesfarsit... avem o viata intreaga inainte sa o completam, sa o adnotam... doar ca pana atunci am face bine sa mai exersam... nu de alta, dar am putea sa uitam... si tristi am fi in uitarea noastra...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:&amp;quot;Arial&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&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/6036519609526702525-7269244065936552177?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/7269244065936552177/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2011/03/fericirea-e-atunci-cand.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/7269244065936552177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/7269244065936552177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2011/03/fericirea-e-atunci-cand.html' title='fericirea e atunci cand...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-2630338239388834577</id><published>2011-03-06T18:32:00.011+02:00</published><updated>2011-03-07T10:30:19.784+02:00</updated><title type='text'>la trecut...</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="text-align: justify;padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; "&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   &gt;Cei mai multi dintre noi nu vrem sa ne despartim de trecut… de frica necunoscutului, de teama dezradacinarii sau din dorinta de a ne ispasi pacatele unul cate unul... Nu vreau sa uit ca am gresit pentru ca uitand ca am gresit, voi gresi din nou. Vreau sa tin minte ca am gresit, vreau sa ma doara si durandu-ma sa ma purific de si prin toate cele cate am gresit... pentru unii sunt doar metafore, pentru mine si pentru multi altii, sunt replicile pe care ni le dam tarziu, in noptile de veghe la capataiul trecutului nostru... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   &gt;Ne agatam cu disperare de orice iluzie a trecutului pana in punctul in care uitam ca exista un prezent pe care am putea sa il traim sau un viitor la care sa visam. O facem de cele mai multe ori inconstient... trecutul este palpabil... are substanta, despre trecut iti poti aminti aproape oricand... o voce, un sunet, o aroma, o fotografie, locuri, oameni... toate se impletesc in asa fel incat, la final (care final este perpetuu), sa ai imaginea completa... fara surprize, fara dezamagiri (altele decat cele pe care le-ai gustat deja) si, din pacate, si fara noi impliniri... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   &gt;Caram la nesfarsit acelasi bagaj de trairi si emotii care, cu timpul, devine una cu noi... Nu putem sa traim fara trecutul nostru. Trecutul este esenta mea... sunt azi aici pentru ca mi s-a intamplat cutare lucru, sau cutare lucru si tot asa... Ne oferim noua insine replica asta de atat de multe ori incat, cu timpul o invatam atat de bine si o spunem atat de bine incat este scuza perfecta pentru a renunta sa mai traim. Astfel, viata noastra devine un lung sir de reprosuri si dojeni adresate noua... ai facut asta si cealalta, ai gresit aici si acolo, ai fi putut face atat de multe si, totusi, ai ales sa nu faci ca, deh, liberul arbitru o folosi si el la ceva... noi cu noi in aceeasi oglinda permanenta... a trecutului... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   &gt;Ne ancoram atat de bine in amintirile noastre, ne ancoram atat de bine in noii si eii trecutului pentru ca este al naibii de confortabil... Noii si eii trecutului nostru nu ne mai dau migrene insuportabile... ne dau cu timpul aceleasi dureri de cap care devin si ele una cu noii prezentului nostru... nu ne dau palpitatii sau emotii necunoscute ori netraite deja... sunt acelasi set de lucruri pe care alegem sa le traim "over and over again" in speranta unei purificari dar si de teama unui nou esec. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   &gt;Amintindu-ne de trecut in fiecare secunda a existentei noastre prezente, uitam ca suntem inca vii, uitam ca desi, cu siguranta, am facut greseli, nimeni nu merita o moarte "in viata", nimeni nu merita sa traiasca cu eterna tortura a lui "de ce", "poate" sau "si daca"... uitam ca exista persoane care asteapta inca un zambet al nostru... uitam chiar ca inca mai avem motive sa zambim... din pacate, uitam cum se construiesc motivele. Asa ca azi... azi traiesc! Poate cladesc pentru maine dar, pentru moment, doar traiesc iar trecutul e doar... trecut...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:&amp;quot;Arial&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-2630338239388834577?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/2630338239388834577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2011/03/la-trecut.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2630338239388834577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2630338239388834577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2011/03/la-trecut.html' title='la trecut...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-8098875100605413001</id><published>2011-01-02T00:08:00.011+02:00</published><updated>2011-03-07T10:14:52.872+02:00</updated><title type='text'>un an lung...</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Ceaiul este fierbinte... citesc pentru a nu stiu cata oara aceeasi pagina... trec la link-ul urmator... nu-mi sare nimic in ochi... nu mai reusesc sa vad greselile... nu ma mai pot concentra... sunt departe... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;A mai trecut un an... un an lung, greu si tare obositor... au disparut din existenta mea persoane fara de care nu credeam ca am sa pot supravietui... Se spune ca nimeni nu este de neinlocuit... in mare asa este, doar ca am trai mult mai bine si mai frumos cu cei dragi sau cu cei pe care ii consideram dragi pe langa noi... unii dintre voi imi veti lipsi dar... a trecut... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Tot in anul acesta lung si obositor am reintalnit persoane pe care le consideram pierdute odata cu trecerea timpului... au reaparut in existenta mea si au disparut la fel de repede precum reintrasera in viata mea... au lasat in urma lor un gol... nu mare... nu mic... doar un gol... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;In acest minunat an am cunoscut persoane care mi-au schimbat viata si perceptia asupra acesteia radical... Am invatat in 2010 ca uneori iti trebuie doar o secunda sa te indragostesti, iti trebuie doar un minut ca sa ajungi sa iubesti, iti trebuie doar o zi ca sa ajungi din rai in infern dar, din pacate, de prea putine ori invers... tot in 2010 am invatat ca probabil o viata nu este suficienta ca sa ajungi sa uiti o ora, o zi, sau poate o saptamana care te-au schimbat definitiv...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Am invatat anul acesta ca greul nu vine niciodata singur, ca intotdeuna e loc de intamplari si mai incarcate de invataminte... ca ai nevoie de multa putere sa treci mai departe si ca, de cele mai multe ori, puterea este ascunsa undeva in adancul nostru... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Pentru toate acele momente cand am fost jos si am invatat sa ma ridic...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Pentru zilele in care am zambit din suflet pentru ca ati reaparut in viata mea...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Pentru secundele, minutele, orele sau zilele in care ati ramas langa mine...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Pentru serile in care am plans lacrimi amare pentru ca ati disparut din nou...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Pentru acele momente cand am ras cu pofta pentru ca voi v-ati straduit...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Pentru toate acele clipe de tristete crunta pentru ca m-ati mintit sau m-ati dezamagit... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Pentru ca m-ati iubit... pentru ca ma iubiti...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Pentru ca fiecare dintre voi a contribuit la cine sunt eu azi...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Pentru toate acestea azi sunt eu - cea pe care unii o cunosc iar altii au apucat sa o vada cu adevarat doar pentru cateva secunde... fara voi - cei care ati ales sa nu mai faceti parte din viata mea, cu voi - cei care sunteti si veti ramane o parte din sufletul meu... pentru toate acestea, dar si pentru altele care raman intre mine si fiecare dintre voi, va multumesc...&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/6036519609526702525-8098875100605413001?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/8098875100605413001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2011/01/un-lung.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/8098875100605413001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/8098875100605413001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2011/01/un-lung.html' title='un an lung...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-9169019020684344592</id><published>2010-12-29T13:52:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-12-29T16:57:15.308+02:00</updated><title type='text'>love... hate... all with passion...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "  &gt;I love you to death and will squeeze the very life out of you unless and until you dedicate your soul to me forever after!
Or, I simply hate your guts and will eat you alive for breakfast just because something about you bugs me!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-9169019020684344592?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/9169019020684344592/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/12/love-hate-with-passion.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/9169019020684344592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/9169019020684344592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/12/love-hate-with-passion.html' title='love... hate... all with passion...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-1546771233374965604</id><published>2010-12-05T23:48:00.014+02:00</published><updated>2011-03-07T10:15:23.429+02:00</updated><title type='text'>de ce...</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Cand viitorul nu mai suna roz te intrebi oare unde ai gresit… te apuca disperarea… te ascunzi… fugi de lume si, cel mai grav, fugi de tine… incepi sa iti pui intrebari legate de tine… sau, simplu, intrebi de ce?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Cand o palma a vietii te da peste cap mai tare decat erai dat deja, te intrebi din nou oare unde ai gresit… unde a fost granita dintre bine si… mai putin bine… spre deloc… spre rau… cat de subtire a fost granita dintre extaz si agonie… &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Spuneam candva, nu cu multa vreme in urma, ca nu iti sunt dati oamenii pe care ii vrei pe langa tine… iti sunt dati cei de care ai nevoie… ca sa te ajute, sa te raneasca, sa te iubeasca, sa te paraseasca si sa te transforme in persoana care esti destinat sa fii… dar, din pacate, ce-i prea mult, strica… si, da, suntem facuti din aluaturi diferite… dar uneori chiar si aluaturile diferite ar trebui sa aiba la baza cateva ingrediente comune… educatie, bun-simt, decenta, constiinta… cuvinte atat de straine vocabularului si constructiei unora dintre noi… din pacate… &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Pot intelege carentele de educatie, pot chiar sa empatizez cu oamenii de genul acesta, cu situatia lor ingrata… dar nu pot si nu vreau sa cred ca oamenii care au premisele corecte, pot gresi atat de flagrant… pot chiar sa faca rau voit… pot chiar sa isi dezvolte o agenda in directia aceasta… Nu pot si nu vreau sa accept ca oamenii normali (raportandu-ma la o normalitate general acceptata), sunt capabili de rautate gratuita, ca sunt stapaniti si manati de egoism, de vanitate si, intr-un final, de lasitate… Din pacate, cu astfel de personaje trebuie sa convietuim si, desi (ca si constructie), sunt obisnuita sa iau tot ce e mai bun din oameni, uneori imi vine nu tocmai usor… &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;In astfel de momente, te intorci la intrebarea initiala… de ce?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Pentru ca ei pot… pentru ca ei vor… pentru ca nu le pasa… pentru ca ei nu stiu ce inseamna sa zambesti din suflet… pentru ca asta este capacitatea lor… pentru ca nimic din lumea asta nu ar putea sa le miste sufletul impietrit… pentru ca sunt “mici”, tristi si mojici… din pacate… si, totusi, de ce?&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/6036519609526702525-1546771233374965604?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/1546771233374965604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/12/nu-pot.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/1546771233374965604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/1546771233374965604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/12/nu-pot.html' title='de ce...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-3403567702837460725</id><published>2010-12-03T18:13:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2010-12-03T18:14:20.185+02:00</updated><title type='text'>holes and blanks...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;em style="font-style: normal; line-height: 15px; "&gt;I used&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"&gt; to colour in the &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em style="font-style: normal; line-height: 15px; "&gt;holes&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"&gt; n&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em style="font-style: normal; line-height: 15px; "&gt;ow I leave them blank...&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/6036519609526702525-3403567702837460725?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/3403567702837460725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/12/holes-and-blanks.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/3403567702837460725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/3403567702837460725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/12/holes-and-blanks.html' title='holes and blanks...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-6000912800740222707</id><published>2010-11-14T13:12:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2010-11-14T21:09:37.990+02:00</updated><title type='text'>cronica unei nopti... diferite... doar ganduri...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Trage aer in piept... rasufla adanc... esti tot tu... nu s-a schimbat nimic esential... trebuie doar sa accepti ca unele lucruri se modifica functie de conjunctura...
Regulile nu le mai faci tu... ai iesit din zona ta de confort... E o alta lume? Nu, sunt tot oameni, doar un pic mai dezinhibati, poate mai nepasatori decat tine... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Oare are cineva idee ca existi? Probabil ca nu... probabil ca senzatia asta te va urmari pentru tot restul vietii... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;O replica nu tocmai potrivita iti trece pe langa ureche... O ignori? Zambesti politicos? Nu conteaza... nu pentru asta esti aici... you wished for this...  Existi! Ciudat, nu asta era confirmarea de care ai fi avut nevoie... Buuun... asta e... mergi mai departe... nu conteaza...
Atata lume si totusi atat de pustiu... Nu! Uita de asta... aminteste-ti a sasea porunca... pustiul... golul... "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;nu există pustiu&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;... există doar incapacitatea noastră de a umple golul în care trăim..."  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;
Totul iti pare atat de ciudat... nu e nimic ciudat... e doar nou... oare? Deja-vu... parca ai mai trecut candva prin asta... Mda... candva demult... Ar fi trebuit sa inveti ceva din toate experientele trecute si, totusi, oare ai invatat? Nu e timpul pierdut... se pare ca ai invatat ceva... Asteptarea asta... te-a ucis... poate inca te ucide...
In sfarsit... o fata cunoscuta... zambesti larg... ti s-a luat o povara de pe umeri... ramane nodul... nu ai nimic... e doar panica... te strecori afara... trage aer in piept din nou... totul e bine... Zabovesti cateva minute in curte... aerul e rece... mai rece decat ai fi crezut... tremuri... Panica? Teama? Frig? Da, e doar frigul de data asta... vin sa iti tina companie cateva persoane mai mult sau mai putin cunoscute... sunt amabili... nu vor nimic... pare-se ca e important doar sa vada lumea zambind... esti doar inca una din multele ce au trecut pe acolo... poate doar fara atacurile de panica dese... ciudate pentru atatia... pentru toti... Ai invatat inca o data sa zambesti... e important pentru tine... nu si pentru ceilalti... De ce mai conteaza ceilalti? Pur si simplu...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Trage aer in piept si intoarce-te... e timpul sa-ti mai invingi o fobie... Oare ei stiu? Nu! E mai bine asa... Muzica este departe de a fi in surdina... incepi sa iti intri in rol... un alt rol... intr-o alta zi... intr-o alta noapte... intr-o alta viata... De data asta e mai bine... te amagesti singura... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Zaharul de pe buza paharului iti aminteste de un alt moment similar... Zambesti amar? Nu! Doar zambesti... cineva iti surprinde privirea pierduta... Ai patit ceva? - vine inevitabil intrebarea... ai vrea sa strigi... sa spui ca da... raspunzi politicos ca nu... totul e bine... incerci doar sa-ti intri in ritm... ei nu stiu ca nu e ritmul tau... va fi... pentru ca iti doresti suficient de mult... dar oare cu ce pret de data asta?!... Joaca-ti rolul, iti spune constiinta... schitezi un zambet timid... sorbi inca o gura din bautura si chicotesti precum un copil... Prostii... ca intotdeauna, numai prostii... o sa treaca si asta... desi nu vrei... de data asta nu vrei... ai vrea sa tina o eternitate si inca ceva... poate...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;O alta intrebare stupida, o alta remarca grosolana... Ei, si ce daca... zambeste larg... prefa-te ca nu ai inteles... ignora... e specialitatea ta... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Au trecut deja cateva ore... cine le mai numara?! Nu tu... De data asta chiar nu... ciudat chiar si pentru tine... lumea te trateaza ca si cum ai fi de-a casei... zambesti din nou... de data asta din suflet... cineva te strange in brate... ti se lumineaza fata... cateva zeci de secunde o data la cateva zeci de minute... e suficient... Cine ar fi crezut ca ai sa spui asa ceva vreodata?! Nu tu... nu cei care te cunosc cu adevarat... si totusi... zambesti... e suficient... acum...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Te retragi intr-un colt al incaperii... nu te vede nimeni... esti din nou invizibila... Trec alte minute... te cufunzi in gandurile tale... suna iar telefonul... te irita... te agita... te face sa nu te simti in elementul tau... alegi sa ignori... Atata zgomot si, totusi, simti ca e liniste... te uiti minute in sir pe o stire interesanta... Cineva observa ca esti acolo... o conversatie scurta si politicoasa... Ramai din nou singura si surazi larg... esti bucuroasa ca esti aici... ciudat... atat de nu in elementul tau si, totusi... ti s-a luminat fata... esti libera... nu se asteapta nimeni la nimic din partea ta... s-au obisnuit cu prezenta ta absenta... esti acolo... dar nu incomodezi... te-ai convins? nu inca... Te-a gasit... desi nu te ascunsesei... zambesti din nou... esti tu insati... nu trebuie sa te prefaci... povara? a disparut... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Usor, usor, lumea pleaca... o duduie fericita sau nefericita... doar ea stie... daseaza frenetic... O privesti absent... Telefonul suna iar...simti cum te cuprinde disperarea... incerci sa glumesti pe marginea subiectului... nu-ti iese... simti si tu ca e fortat... Gata! L-am inchis...  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Trec alte minute... Aceeasi fata prietenoasa... Oare de ce? Conteaza? Da... dar nu vrei sa stii acum... Pentru unii a fost doar o seara... pentru altii - o experienta de viata... un test cu tine... simti ca iti e bine asa... e tot ce conteaza... zambesti... usile se inchid in urma ta... s-a facut liniste...&lt;/span&gt;&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/6036519609526702525-6000912800740222707?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/6000912800740222707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/11/cronica-unei-nopti-diferite-doar.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/6000912800740222707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/6000912800740222707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/11/cronica-unei-nopti-diferite-doar.html' title='cronica unei nopti... diferite... doar ganduri...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-8945105151737896754</id><published>2010-10-16T12:38:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2010-10-16T12:40:45.764+03:00</updated><title type='text'>maine...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;si ieri simteam la fel... si "maine" - azi, simt la fel... cine stie ce va fi maine...&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/6036519609526702525-8945105151737896754?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/8945105151737896754/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/10/maine.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/8945105151737896754'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/8945105151737896754'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/10/maine.html' title='maine...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-8596484863712663466</id><published>2010-10-11T10:19:00.007+03:00</published><updated>2010-10-11T12:10:19.858+03:00</updated><title type='text'>ganduri...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;Mi-am planuit cu grija moartea - ceea ce n-am facut cu viata mea, pe care am lasat-o sa serpuiasca in meandre de colo pana colo, in ciuda incercarilor mele firave de a o stapani. (...) si asta pentru ca n-am facut altceva decat sa urmez linia minimei rezistente. Prin contrast, imi doream ca moartea sa-mi fie limpede si simpla, discreta, chiar un pic austera (...) ca simpla rochie neagra, cu un singur sirag de perle (...). Asadar, fara surle si trambite (...) fara taraganari. Imi doream sa dispar pur si simplu, lasand in urma doar umbra unui les, umbra pe care toata lumea sa o ia drept realitate. La inceput am crezut ca si reusisem...&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/6036519609526702525-8596484863712663466?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/8596484863712663466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/10/ganduri.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/8596484863712663466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/8596484863712663466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/10/ganduri.html' title='ganduri...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-3764076087455286849</id><published>2010-10-06T17:02:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2010-10-06T17:02:21.982+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Simply Red - Holding Back The Years</title><content type='html'>&lt;object style="background-image:url(http://i2.ytimg.com/vi/yG07WSu7Q9w/hqdefault.jpg)" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/yG07WSu7Q9w?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/yG07WSu7Q9w?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" width="425" height="344" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-3764076087455286849?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/3764076087455286849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/10/simply-red-holding-back-years.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/3764076087455286849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/3764076087455286849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/10/simply-red-holding-back-years.html' title='Simply Red - Holding Back The Years'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-5830983561516851666</id><published>2010-10-04T19:21:00.006+03:00</published><updated>2010-10-04T19:31:15.728+03:00</updated><title type='text'>eu... tu... noi...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: medium; "&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Arial; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Nu iti sunt dati oamenii pe care ii vrei pe langa tine... iti sunt dati cei de care ai nevoie... ca sa te ajute, sa te raneasca, sa te paraseasca, sa te iubeasca si sa te transforme in persoana in care esti destinat sa fii...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-5830983561516851666?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/5830983561516851666/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/10/despre-alegeri.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/5830983561516851666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/5830983561516851666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/10/despre-alegeri.html' title='eu... tu... noi...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-4085978819125135580</id><published>2010-09-11T21:15:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2010-09-11T21:16:50.333+03:00</updated><title type='text'>...</title><content type='html'>real eyes realize real lies....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-4085978819125135580?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/4085978819125135580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/09/blog-post_11.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/4085978819125135580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/4085978819125135580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/09/blog-post_11.html' title='...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-7293818994154663432</id><published>2010-09-04T18:17:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2010-09-04T18:17:47.670+03:00</updated><title type='text'>...</title><content type='html'>ran out of tears...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-7293818994154663432?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/7293818994154663432/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/09/blog-post_04.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/7293818994154663432'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/7293818994154663432'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/09/blog-post_04.html' title='...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-656044940953342139</id><published>2010-09-02T23:29:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2010-09-02T23:30:15.128+03:00</updated><title type='text'>...</title><content type='html'>have you ever felt like dying? I do...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-656044940953342139?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/656044940953342139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/09/blog-post.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/656044940953342139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/656044940953342139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/09/blog-post.html' title='...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-2387754368895883850</id><published>2010-09-02T15:12:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2010-09-02T15:12:34.375+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Metallica - Fade to Black (Official Video)</title><content type='html'>&lt;object style="background-image:url(http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/l3EryN4stwQ/hqdefault.jpg)" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/l3EryN4stwQ?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/l3EryN4stwQ?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" width="425" height="344" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-2387754368895883850?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/2387754368895883850/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/09/metallica-fade-to-black-official-video.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2387754368895883850'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2387754368895883850'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/09/metallica-fade-to-black-official-video.html' title='Metallica - Fade to Black (Official Video)'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-2881396903764744654</id><published>2010-08-31T20:15:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2010-08-31T20:17:26.628+03:00</updated><title type='text'>rad cand imi vine sa plang...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;ei stiu sa schimbe copacul in trunchi,
ei vor sa auda cum ramuri se frang,
ei cred ca pot sa ma vada-n genunchi
dar eu stiu sa rad cand imi vine sa plang...

ei stiu sa rupa o aripa-n zbor,
ei vor sa imbrace in haine ce strang,
ei pot sa puna-ntrebari care dor
dar eu stiu sa rad cand imi vine sa plang...
eu rad cand imi vine sa plang...

eu stiu ca miine e o zi,
eu stiu ca, oricum, ce va fi va fi,
eu stiu sa cred si raul sa-l alung... sa-l alung...
eu rad cand imi vine sa plang...

ei stiu sa calce-n picioare minuni,
ei vor sa spuna cuvinte ce frang,
ei pot sa schimbe duminica-n luni
dar eu stiu sa rad cand imi vine sa plang...
eu rad cand imi vine sa plang...

ei vor sa nu ma auda cantand,
ei stiu sa rada cand pumnii mi-i strang,
ei cred ca pot sa ma vada plangand
dar eu stiu sa rad cand imi vine sa plang...
eu rad cand imi vine sa plang...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 11px;"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;eu rad cand imi vine sa plang...

eu rad cand imi vïne sa plang...&lt;/span&gt;&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/6036519609526702525-2881396903764744654?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/2881396903764744654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/08/rad-cand-imi-vine-sa-plang.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2881396903764744654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2881396903764744654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/08/rad-cand-imi-vine-sa-plang.html' title='rad cand imi vine sa plang...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-1883553788678930062</id><published>2010-08-18T15:40:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2010-08-18T15:40:57.351+03:00</updated><title type='text'>iubirea...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; color: rgb(102, 102, 102); line-height: 19px; "&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 24px; "&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Corinteni 13&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 24px; "&gt;Iubirea este indelung rabdatoare si buna.Iubirea nu este geloasa, nu se lauda, nu se inganfa.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 24px; "&gt;Nu se poarta necuvincios, nu isi cauta propriile interese, nu se irita. Nu tine cont de raul suferit.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 24px; "&gt;Nu se bucura de nedreptate ci se bucura cu adevarul.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 24px; "&gt;Indura totul, spera totul, suporta totul.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 24px; "&gt;Iubirea nu se termina niciodata...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-1883553788678930062?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/1883553788678930062/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/08/iubirea.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/1883553788678930062'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/1883553788678930062'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/08/iubirea.html' title='iubirea...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-8674690023089012760</id><published>2010-07-27T14:55:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2010-07-27T14:55:54.089+03:00</updated><title type='text'>never ending nightmare...</title><content type='html'>&lt;object style="background-image:url(http://i3.ytimg.com/vi/VCAx2YciYx8/hqdefault.jpg)" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/VCAx2YciYx8&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/VCAx2YciYx8&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1" width="425" height="344" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-8674690023089012760?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/8674690023089012760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/07/never-ending-nightmare.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/8674690023089012760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/8674690023089012760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/07/never-ending-nightmare.html' title='never ending nightmare...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-6826039231584098764</id><published>2010-07-25T20:18:00.004+03:00</published><updated>2010-10-11T12:12:30.970+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Bored and sad - Mikhail Lermontov</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;t's boring and sad, and there's no one around
In times of my spirit's travail…
Desires!…What use is our vain and eternal desire?..
While years pass on by - all the best years!

To love…but love whom?.. a short love is vexing,
And permanent love's just a myth.
Perhaps look within? - The past's left no trace:
All trivial, joys and distress…

What good are the passions? For sooner or later
Their sweet sickness ends when reason speaks up;
And life, if surveyed with cold-blooded regard,-
Is stupid and empty - a joke…&lt;/span&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/6036519609526702525-6826039231584098764?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/6826039231584098764/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/07/bored-and-sad-mikhail-lermontov.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/6826039231584098764'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/6826039231584098764'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/07/bored-and-sad-mikhail-lermontov.html' title='Bored and sad - Mikhail Lermontov'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-939403418609330604</id><published>2010-07-24T17:41:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2010-07-24T17:41:37.347+03:00</updated><title type='text'>puro teatro</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/fA0BD8rCy-8&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/fA0BD8rCy-8&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1" width="425" height="344" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-939403418609330604?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/939403418609330604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/07/puro-teatro.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/939403418609330604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/939403418609330604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/07/puro-teatro.html' title='puro teatro'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-2842726024992112539</id><published>2010-07-04T23:18:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2010-07-04T23:21:28.749+03:00</updated><title type='text'>the heart dies...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; "&gt;the heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves... until one day there are none... no hopes... nothing remains...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-2842726024992112539?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/2842726024992112539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/07/heart-dies.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2842726024992112539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2842726024992112539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/07/heart-dies.html' title='the heart dies...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-5762453766605013957</id><published>2010-07-04T21:41:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2010-07-04T21:41:13.476+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Tracy Chapman - Give me one reason</title><content type='html'>&lt;object style="background-image:url(http://i2.ytimg.com/vi/y2kEx5BLoC4/hqdefault.jpg)" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/y2kEx5BLoC4&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/y2kEx5BLoC4&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1" width="425" height="344" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-5762453766605013957?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/5762453766605013957/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/07/tracy-chapman-give-me-one-reason.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/5762453766605013957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/5762453766605013957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/07/tracy-chapman-give-me-one-reason.html' title='Tracy Chapman - Give me one reason'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-9067642312696045677</id><published>2010-06-29T06:14:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2010-06-29T06:17:06.142+03:00</updated><title type='text'>pentru oana... comentariu la discutia de la ceai... :)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  border-collapse: collapse; font-family:Arial;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;unii oameni vin si pleaca repede din viata noastra, altii stau o vreme, punandu-si amprenta pe inima noastra... dupa plecarea lor, nu vom mai fi niciodata aceiasi....&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/6036519609526702525-9067642312696045677?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/9067642312696045677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/06/pentru-oana-comentariu-la-discutia-de.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/9067642312696045677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/9067642312696045677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/06/pentru-oana-comentariu-la-discutia-de.html' title='pentru oana... comentariu la discutia de la ceai... :)'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-2648461631074654881</id><published>2010-06-28T09:57:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2010-06-28T10:05:04.777+03:00</updated><title type='text'>autoportret...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jy5ElBffe-Q/TChJTZPUHTI/AAAAAAAAAC4/GEZ4IK1RdiU/s1600/sepia+green.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 384px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jy5ElBffe-Q/TChJTZPUHTI/AAAAAAAAAC4/GEZ4IK1RdiU/s400/sepia+green.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487716743492410674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;Femeia aceasta avea aerul ca asteapta, de pilda, ca un barbat sa termine ceva mai important decat fiinta ei, o batalie sau o operatie, in timpul careia nu trebuie stanjenit sau grabit. Cand barbatul termina, avea sa o gaseasca asteptand, fara nerabdare sau iritare, undeva pe un scaun inalt, intorcand incet filele unui ziar...&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/6036519609526702525-2648461631074654881?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/2648461631074654881/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/06/autoportret.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2648461631074654881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2648461631074654881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/06/autoportret.html' title='autoportret...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jy5ElBffe-Q/TChJTZPUHTI/AAAAAAAAAC4/GEZ4IK1RdiU/s72-c/sepia+green.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-5165167640764807794</id><published>2010-06-27T17:35:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2010-06-27T17:36:22.403+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Lisa Mitchell - Incomplete Lullaby</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 15px; "&gt;Like a last goodbye
Like an incomplete lullaby...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;object style="background-image:url(http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/4NE1fbCvCHI/hqdefault.jpg)" width="480" height="295"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4NE1fbCvCHI&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4NE1fbCvCHI&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1" width="480" height="295" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-5165167640764807794?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/5165167640764807794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/06/lisa-mitchell-incomplete-lullaby.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/5165167640764807794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/5165167640764807794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/06/lisa-mitchell-incomplete-lullaby.html' title='Lisa Mitchell - Incomplete Lullaby'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-4608054238592681862</id><published>2010-06-21T22:49:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T22:49:31.999+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Philip Wesley - "Far and Away"</title><content type='html'>&lt;object style="background-image:url(http://i3.ytimg.com/vi/ZdhGINEyDvI/hqdefault.jpg)" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZdhGINEyDvI&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZdhGINEyDvI&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1" width="425" height="344" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-4608054238592681862?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/4608054238592681862/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/06/philip-wesley-far-and-away.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/4608054238592681862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/4608054238592681862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/06/philip-wesley-far-and-away.html' title='Philip Wesley - &quot;Far and Away&quot;'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-2300832466741214500</id><published>2010-06-21T21:58:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T22:02:17.786+03:00</updated><title type='text'>a cincea iubire...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; color: rgb(219, 193, 167); line-height: 19px; "&gt;El nu-si gaseste nici odihna, nici fericirea. E blestemat sa ramana un nomad. E dominat de o pasiune inepuizabila care, insa, il lasa mereu cu mainile goale. Vrand sa iubeasca toate femeile, nu va iubi niciuna.Si incepand prin a nu se lasa prins in mrejele niciunei iubiri, sfarseste prin a deveni un haituit. Surasul sau insolent nu mai poate ascunde adevarul. In ciuda alergaturii lui, nu va ajunge niciodata in locul unde o imbratisare descopera eternitatea. Dragostea nu-i arata decat partea ei efemera. Cea care moare dupa prima imbratisare si care ucide la prima atingere. […]

Poate ca n-are nici amintiri. Si ce sa-si aminteasca? In urma lui nu exista decat un lung sir de clipe care nu i-au dat nimic pentru viitor. El isi arde trecutul pe masura ce-l paraseste. Nu are incredere decat in clipa pe care o atinge, dar tocmai aceasta clipa ii arata de fiecare data ca s-a inselat. In fiecare dorinta satisfacuta intalneste deceptia. Cucereste fara sa posede niciodata. Elanul sau se prabuseste de fiecare data in gol.
Pe de alta parte, el stie ca a se opri din aceasta cursa inseamna a accepta moartea...


Octavian Paler-Scrisori imaginare a cincea iubire&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-2300832466741214500?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/2300832466741214500/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/06/cincea-iubire.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2300832466741214500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2300832466741214500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/06/cincea-iubire.html' title='a cincea iubire...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-3955707912528778742</id><published>2010-01-25T13:29:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2010-01-25T13:39:21.073+02:00</updated><title type='text'>in a manner of speaking...</title><content type='html'>In a manner of speaking semantics won't do... In this life that we live we only make do and the way that we feel might have to be sacrified... So in a manner of speaking I just want to say that, just like you, I should find a way to tell you everything by saying nothing...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-3955707912528778742?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/3955707912528778742/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/01/in-manner-of-speaking.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/3955707912528778742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/3955707912528778742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2010/01/in-manner-of-speaking.html' title='in a manner of speaking...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-2422329889212217983</id><published>2009-11-24T08:59:00.007+02:00</published><updated>2009-11-24T09:12:07.487+02:00</updated><title type='text'>It's probably me...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:courier new;font-size:100%;"  &gt;You're not the easiest person I ever got to know... And it's hard for us both to let our feelings show... Some would say... I should let you go your way... You'll only make me cry... It's hard to say it, I hate to say it But it's probably me...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-2422329889212217983?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/2422329889212217983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2009/11/its-probably-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2422329889212217983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2422329889212217983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2009/11/its-probably-me.html' title='It&apos;s probably me...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-8289069679563668931</id><published>2009-11-16T22:59:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-11-16T23:14:31.773+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Despre alegeri...</title><content type='html'>&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;link style="font-family: verdana;" rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CBika%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0in; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:8.5in 11.0in; 	margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; 	mso-header-margin:.5in; 	mso-footer-margin:.5in; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0in; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-ansi-language:#0400; 	mso-fareast-language:#0400; 	mso-bidi-language:#0400;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Ce faci in ziua in care trecutul iti bate la usa? Ce faci atunci cand, disperat fiind, fugi si fugi fara a gasi portita de scapare? &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Ce faci atunci cand te trezesti in intuneric si iti doresti cu ardoare sa vezi lumina? &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Ce faci cand nu-ti mai gasesti linistea, desi ai senzatia ca ai luptat o eternitate pentru ea? &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Povestile de viata au, adeseori, doua fete - fata pe care le-o dam noi si fata pe care le-o dau ceilalti... este irelevant daca "ceilalti" inseamna una sau mai multe persoane... &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Fiecare dintre noi s-a confruntat, macar o data in viata, cu disperarea de a alege dintre doua rele... sau, poate, cu nefericirea de a trebui sa aleaga intre o certitudine proasta si o incertitudine cu potential... De ce sa o fac? De ce sa nu o fac? Plusuri, minusuri... Monotonie si placiditate sau exuberanta si inflacarare... La fiece pol te-ai afla, realizezi ca alegerea este din ce in ce mai dificila... &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Este o nebunie ce incerc eu sa spun; sunt constienta de asta... dar este adevarul... adevarul, asa cum numai eu il stiu... Este dulcele-amar adevar al meu pe care nimeni nu mi-l poate lua... De ce trebuie ca adevarul meu sa fie sententios, in timp ce celalalt sa fie protector? Poate ca raspunsul anumitor intrebari rataceste undeva in neant si va mai dura ceva pana va ajunge la cel ce l-a iscodit initial…&lt;u1:p&gt;&lt;/u1:p&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Mi-am dat seama in urma cu ceva vreme ca nu are nicio importanta cu cata demnitate incearca unii dintre noi sa abordeze subiectele sensibile legate de existenta (a lor sau a altora) - va aparea intotdeauna cineva care are senzatia ca stie mai multe decat tine, ca te cunoaste mai bine, ca a trait pentru tine, prin tine... Acel cineva are, de cele mai multe ori, resurse nebanuite de timp si disponibilitatea inimaginabila de a scormoni printre ramasitele trecutului. Oare de ce? Apare, inevitabil, intrebarea... Poate pentru ca vrea, pentru ca poate, pentru ca nu are ceva mai bun de facut, pentru ca ii (le) este teama, pentru ca viata ii (le) este atat de facila si anosta in acelasi timp, incat simt(e) nevoia sa o condimenteze cu ceva, am incercat din rasputeri sa ma conving... &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Poate ca unele lucruri trebuie sa fie discutate "over and over again"... poate ca e bine sa fie discutate... poate ca exista inca speranta ca intr-o buna zi vor fi epuizate si, epuizate fiind, sa nu mai existe tulburatorul "de ce" si nesatisfacatorul "poate"... &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Pentru ca in viata (cel putin in a mea) exista intotdeauna o balanta, vreau sa cred ca nu exista oameni fundamental rai, din moment ce m-am convins in timp ca nu exista nici oameni eminamente buni*. Ricoeur spunea ca "libertatea omului este fortata sa existe in fata raului"... Vreau sa cred ca raul (de la formele cele mai simple, pana la cele mai elaborate) este vulnerabil si ca undeva exista ascuns antidotul sau! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;In cautarea acestuia ma regasesc... am ales sa dezbat cu "trecutul", vreau sa deschid usa pentru a face loc luminii si imi doresc cu pasiunea nebunului sa fie in sfarsit liniste... &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;*pentru carcotasi - stiu ca nu este neaparat verificabil... dar pentru aceasta au fost descoperite inferentele...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&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/6036519609526702525-8289069679563668931?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/8289069679563668931/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2009/11/despre-alegeri_6868.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/8289069679563668931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/8289069679563668931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2009/11/despre-alegeri_6868.html' title='Despre alegeri...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-1382871117432192726</id><published>2009-11-04T13:34:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2009-11-04T13:46:52.129+02:00</updated><title type='text'>¿Quien muere?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"  &gt;Muere lentamente

&lt;span style=""&gt;quien se transforma en esclavo del hábito,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;repitiendo todos los días los mismos trayectos,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;quien no cambia de marca.

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;No arriesga vestir un color nuevo y no le habla a quien no conoce.
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style=""&gt;Muere lentamente

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;quien hace de la televisión su gurú.&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style=""&gt;Muere lentamente

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;quien evita una pasión,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;quien prefiere el negro sobre blanco

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;y los puntos sobre las "íes" a un remolino de emociones,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;justamente las que rescatan el brillo de los ojos,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;sonrisas de los bostezos,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;corazones a los tropiezos y sentimientos.
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style=""&gt;Muere lentamente

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;quien no voltea la mesa cuando está infeliz en el trabajo,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;quien no arriesga lo cierto por lo incierto para ir detrás de un sueño,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;quien no se permite por lo menos una vez en la vida,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;huir de los consejos sensatos.
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style=""&gt;Muere lentamente

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;quien no viaja,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;quien no lee,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;quien no oye música,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;quien no encuentra gracia en si mismo.
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style=""&gt;Muere lentamente

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;quien destruye su amor propio,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;quien no se deja ayudar.
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style=""&gt;Muere lentamente,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;quien pasa los días quejándose de su mala suerte

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;o de la lluvia incesante.
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style=""&gt;Muere lentamente,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;quien abandona un proyecto antes de iniciarlo,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;no preguntando de un asunto que desconoce o

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;no respondiendo cuando le indagan sobre algo que sabe.
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style=""&gt;Evitemos la muerte en suaves cuotas,

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;recordando siempre que estar vivo exige un esfuerzo mucho mayor

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;que el simple hecho de respirar.

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Solamente la ardiente paciencia hará que conquistemos

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;una espléndida felicidad. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-1382871117432192726?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/1382871117432192726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2009/11/quien-muere.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/1382871117432192726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/1382871117432192726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2009/11/quien-muere.html' title='¿Quien muere?'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-2472531465177615047</id><published>2009-09-26T18:52:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2009-09-26T18:53:51.069+03:00</updated><title type='text'>for my demons... for your demons...</title><content type='html'>Did you fall into that raven night

With sigh and woe and lonely path ?

This song is for the demons

That haunted you in those loveless lonely nights

And for the shadows that stained your soul

For the echoes of your loss

This song is for your forgiveness

For the sadness I knifed in your heart

For the road that lies ahead

With fear and hope, loss and salvation

Did you wake with a sigh and not a smile, did you ?

Did you hear the ravens woe in this exaulted night ?

This very night

This song is for the demons

That haunted me in those loveless lonely nights

And for the shadows that stained my soul

For the echoes of my loss

This song is for my forgiveness

For the sadness you knifed in my heart

For the road that lies ahead

With fear and hope, loss and salvation...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-2472531465177615047?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/2472531465177615047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2009/09/for-my-demons-for-your-demons.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2472531465177615047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/2472531465177615047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2009/09/for-my-demons-for-your-demons.html' title='for my demons... for your demons...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-4736978097963560433</id><published>2009-09-18T10:41:00.006+03:00</published><updated>2010-10-11T12:15:11.849+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Shoko Tendo - Yakuza Moon</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jy5ElBffe-Q/SrNHhjs8f-I/AAAAAAAAACE/jOog0KURbqs/s1600-h/yakuza+moon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 276px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382724621482885090" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jy5ElBffe-Q/SrNHhjs8f-I/AAAAAAAAACE/jOog0KURbqs/s400/yakuza+moon.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jy5ElBffe-Q/SrNHNQXtHJI/AAAAAAAAAB8/G4NezQUghxQ/s1600-h/tendo%27s+back2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 180px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 215px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382724272696138898" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jy5ElBffe-Q/SrNHNQXtHJI/AAAAAAAAAB8/G4NezQUghxQ/s400/tendo%27s+back2.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;


&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jy5ElBffe-Q/SrNHM-0s-zI/AAAAAAAAAB0/_bDCb6t9SVs/s1600-h/tendo%27s+back.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 248px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 242px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382724267985926962" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jy5ElBffe-Q/SrNHM-0s-zI/AAAAAAAAAB0/_bDCb6t9SVs/s400/tendo%27s+back.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;

&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Am citit recenzia acum vreo doua saptamani intr-una dintre revistele de obicei dedicate barbatilor... am dat fuga la cea mai apropiata librarie si am citit cateva pagini... nu m-a convins... i-am mai dat tarcoale vreo saptamana, recitind, de fiecare data aceleasi prime pagini... intr-una din zile, intr-un impuls al momentului, m-am dus vartej la raft si am luat cartea... vanzatoarele, obisnuite cu mine printre randurile librariei, citind si recitind paginile cartilor care nu ma convingeau din prima, probabil au fost uimite sa ma vada cumparand-o... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Fascinata de coperta dar in acelasi timp gandindu-ma cu infrigurare la ce voi gasi intre paginile ei, am apucat un stilou si am scris pe prima pagina: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;"De la mine, pentru mine! Cu drag, Eu!" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Nu stiam ca intr-adevar va fi o carte pentru mine... pentru sufletul meu...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Am citit-o cu sufletul la gura... cu fiecare pagina terminata, mi-am dat seama ca dincolo de limbajul stangaci, adeseori vulgar, neslefuit in ale literelor in cea mai mare parte, se afla un suflet ranit, o fiinta indurerata, un adevar tainuit si spus intr-un final... tipa durerea din paginile micutei carti... era durerea ei, a lui Shoko... fetita care promitea sa aiba totul in copilaria timpurie (avea toate premisele), transformata de schimbarile familiei ei (dar si ale ei) intr-o &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;yanki... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;rebela fara cauza, dependenta infrigurata... femeia puternica de mai tarziu... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Dependenta lui Shoko este ispititoare... cine nu a simtit vreodata ca este mai usor sa te lasi dus de val?! Si-a acoperit fata cu fard si a imbracat hainele lui Maki pentru a parea mai matura; mai tarziu a mintit, a inselat, a baut, s-a drogat din dorinta de a uita cine este; Dependenta ei nu se rezuma la &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;speed, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;dependenta ei isi are radacinile dincolo de substantele halucinogene... Shoko este dependenta de barbatii maturi, adeseori violenti. Intr-o forma ciudata, Shoko isi iubeste agresorul, poate pentru ca stie ca fiecare iubire bolnava din viata ei o va face mai puternica... sau poate ca nu... Shoko isi va invinge temerile si adictia; intr-un fel foarte ciudat, va triumfa prin singuratate.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Pentru fanii tatuajelor dar si pentru cei care considera ca a-ti scrijeli pielea nu are nimic in comun cu arta, coperta este doar un mic indiciu asupra ceea ce se intampla cu adevarat... am pus mai sus cele mai reusite poze...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;In orice caz... daca va incumetati sa o cititi, nu va asteptati la povesti de iubire, indulcite cu parfumul florilor de cires specific Japoniei, nici la istoriile gansterilor Yakuza din filmele americane... asteptati-va la o realitate cruda si la multa durere... la adevaruri de prea multa vreme tainuite... la violenta fizica si psihica, la dependenta si adictie si la un limbaj cel putin colorat...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Nu este o carte pentru puritani, nu este fictiune... este povestea unei femei care a triumfat, iar gustul victoriei ei este amar...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&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/6036519609526702525-4736978097963560433?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/4736978097963560433/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2009/09/shoko-tendo-yakuza-moon.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/4736978097963560433'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/4736978097963560433'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2009/09/shoko-tendo-yakuza-moon.html' title='Shoko Tendo - Yakuza Moon'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jy5ElBffe-Q/SrNHhjs8f-I/AAAAAAAAACE/jOog0KURbqs/s72-c/yakuza+moon.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036519609526702525.post-9026890671765627472</id><published>2009-09-16T13:29:00.007+03:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T11:33:42.224+03:00</updated><title type='text'>this love... no ordinary love...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I gave you all the love I got&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I gave you more than I could give&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I gave you love&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I gave you all that I have inside&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;And you took my love&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;You took my love&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Didn't I tell you&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;What I believe&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Somebody say that&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;A love like that won't last&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Didn't I give you&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;All that I've got to give baby&lt;/span&gt;


&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I gave you all the love I got&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I gave you more than I could give&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I gave you love&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I gave you all that I have inside&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;And you took my love&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;You took my love&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I keep crying&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I keep trying for you&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;There's nothing like you and I baby&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This is no ordinary love&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;No ordinary love&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This is no ordinary love&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;No ordinary love&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;When you came my way&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;You brightened every day&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;With your sweet smile&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Didn't I tell you&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;What I believe&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Did somebody say that&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;A love like that won't last&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Didn't I give you&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;All that I've got to give baby&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This is no ordinary love&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;No ordinary love&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This is no ordinary love&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;No ordinary love&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I keep crying&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I keep trying for you&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;There's nothing like you and I baby&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This is no ordinary love&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;No ordinary love&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This is no ordinary love&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;No ordinary love&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Keep trying for you&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Keep crying for you&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Keep flying for you&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Keep flying I'm falling&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm falling...&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Keep trying for you&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Keep crying for you&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Keep flying for you&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Keep flying &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;and I'm falling&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;and I'm falling...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6036519609526702525-9026890671765627472?l=faded-soul.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/feeds/9026890671765627472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2009/09/this-love-no-ordinary-love.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/9026890671765627472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6036519609526702525/posts/default/9026890671765627472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://faded-soul.blogspot.com/2009/09/this-love-no-ordinary-love.html' title='this love... no ordinary love...'/><author><name>bianca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13419731252131415701</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Sl9_XVGy30/TbFarCipqDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/2qe9yy1CycI/s220/je%2Bblack%2526white.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
