Feliz ano novo ♥

Querido 2012,
Sei que hoje não é o último dia do ano, mas falta pouco.
Mais um ano passou, mais um ano vem de novo.
Para muitos não é nada de novo, para outros é uma oportunidade.
Só queria dizer que 2012 foi certamente um ano muito bom e positivo.
Tanto desejei para 2012 ser o meu ano "sim" que consegui! E estou aqui toda entusiasmada porque correu tal e qual como queria.
Sim, perdi um amigo. Sim, houve acontecimentos que não correram tão bem como pensava. Sim, existiram dias que não foram os mais positivos de sempre. Apesar de tudo, estou aqui para continuar a sorrir e para resolver todas as questões que ainda não foram respondidas.
Apesar de tudo, venci aquilo que me atormentou durante algum tempo e vi com olhos de ver. Senti aquilo que ainda não tinha sentido. Aprendi muito, isso posso dizer. Aprendi tanto sobre "coisas" inexplicáveis e totalmente diferentes. Aprendi a sorrir o máximo que posso. Aprendi a fechar os olhos mas com uma condição: abri-los logo para não perder nada do que está ao meu redor. Aprendi tanto sobre aquilo que é grandioso e que todos questionam e sobre o que é pequeno e que não passa de pormenor. Aprendi também sobre todos e especialmente, aprendi sobre mim e sobre as minhas capacidades. Claro que para aprender tudo, aconteceram erros. Só com os erros é que se aprende profundamente. E este ano, já não errei e apenas dediquei-me à aprendizagem, a uma comunicação sólida, ainda insegura. Dediquei-me a questionar e a voltar a questionar, sem encontrar respostas. Dediquei-me a querer, desejar e sonhar, sem obter o final. 
Para tudo o que ficou incompleto, será este ano novo. Será 2013.
Portanto eu acredito: se 2012 foi muito bom, não há razões para 2013 ser mau. 
Pelo contrário, 2013 irá ser ainda melhor. Vou ser ainda mais segura, vou encontrar as respostas às minhas perguntas e sim, vou obter aquilo que quero. Mais uma vez: vou voltar a aprender.

Feliz ano novo a todos ♥

Fragile Eyes.

She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon. You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood. She only looked away for a moment, and the mask slipped, and you fell. All your tomorrows start here.

—

Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things

I'm lost, I'm lost.

You cross my mind, a lot. More times than I like to admit; you seem to have taken up permanent residence, making your home in the deepest corners of my mind. And sometimes I get caught up in my head, I’ll lose myself in the colour of your eyes - even in my head I’m helpless - and I have to remind myself to breathe.

—

Julia Pollacco, Inhale, Exhale

Dear Adolescents...

Your life is not an episode of Skins. Things will never look quite as good as they do in a faded, sun-drenched Polaroid; your days are not an editorial from Lula. Your life is not a Sofia Coppola movie, or a Chuck Palahniuk novel, or a Charles Bukowski poem. Grace Coddington isn’t your creative director. Bon Iver and Joy Division don’t play softly in the background at appropriate moments. Your hysterical teenage diary isn’t a work of art. Your room probably isn’t Selby material. Your life isn’t a Tumblr screencap. Every word that comes out of your mouth will not be beautiful and poignant, infinitely quotable. Your pain will not be pretty. Crying till you vomit is always shit. You cannot romanticize hurt. Or sadness. Or loneliness. You will have homework, and hangovers and bad hair days. The train being late won’t lead to any fateful encounters, it will make you late. Sometimes your work will suck. Sometimes you will suck. Far too often, everything will suck - and not in a Wes Anderson kind of way. And there is no divine consolation - only the knowledge that we will hopefully experience the full spectrum - and that sometimes, just sometimes, life will feel like a Coppola film.

- Unknown

After all, smile.

To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.

― Ralph Waldo Emerson

We are losers.

Maybe the truth is, there’s a little bit of loser in all of us. Being happy isn’t having everything in your life be perfect. Maybe it’s about stringing together all the little things.

— Ann Brashares, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

Believe at all.

I remember I would not stand still; I would not stop being perplexed by everything that spontaneously attracted me or caught my attention. I would never cease to look around me and observe myself in relation to nature: either crystal clear skies and sun-melting afternoons, or foggy winter days and weirdly tinted nights. I would never cease to dream and stand by the window, ready to let the diversity of life pass freely through my skin; courageous enough to believe I stood a chance in devouring each shade of sensation. Or perhaps, immensely foolish to plainly - believe at all.

— Virginia Woolf, Selected Diaries

 


















 Photo by me, 21-12-2012

You cannot find peace by avoiding life.

Everything tells me that I am about to make a wrong decision, but making mistakes is just part of life. What does the world want of me? Does it want me to take no risks, to go back to where I came from because I didn’t have the courage to say “yes” to life?

—

Paulo Coelho, Eleven Minutes

What's platonic, anyway...

It’s not that I can’t fall in love. It’s really that I can’t help falling in love with too many things all at once. So, you must understand why I can’t distinguish between what’s platonic and what isn’t, because it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. 

—

Jack Kerouac

Isn’t It Pretty To Think So?

See, I’m the worst breed of human. Let me explain. Some people are dead inside. They go through life knowing this, and they manage fine enough, because, well, they’re dead inside. They aren’t bitter because they don’t care enough to change. They just try to get by with the things they can control. Others live in the fucking clouds, watch romantic comedies, and dream about everything being perfect one day. These people are always fine because they have an everlasting well of hope inside them, and no matter what happens they’ll just romanticize their existence.
But when it comes to me…I’m someone who’s mostly dead inside but still has a little hope for something extraordinary, which, as I said, is the worst breed of human, because it means that I know everything is bullshit, but that I secretly hope for the day when it might not be. The tension makes me wish I were just completely dead inside. It would makes things much easier for me.

—	Nick Miller, Isn’t It Pretty To Think So?

Anna Karina - Photoset2

We Will Hurt Each Other.

We just have to open ourselves up to the truth: we will hurt each other, often. Life is crazy beautiful, but it is crazy and sometimes spins out of control. And that’s okay. That’s how it should be. It’s okay to lose the grip, to slip a little. Because we all do and maybe that makes it easier to forgive one another — people will disappoint you and wrong you, but they will also defend you and fight for you and bowl you over with kindness. We are all such radiant fuckups — we have to remember this and love one another for it. And even when it seems impossible, we have to be good to one another, to extend an open hand, to try to bring the light back in to illuminate the darkness.

—	Cody Gohl, We Will Hurt Each Other

Think.

It was curious to think that the sky was the same for everybody. And the people under the sky were also very much the same - everywhere, all over the world, hundreds or thousands of millions of people just like this, people ignorant of one another existence, held apart by walls of hatred and lies, and yet almost exactly the same - people who had never learned to think but were storing up in their hearts and bellies and muscles the power that would one day overturn the world.

—	George Orwell, 1984

Monday... What a really nice day.

I know today is Monday and you assume it’s going to suck, but according to statistics, there will be over 5,000 weddings, 10,000 childbirths, and 42 million hugs occurring today throughout the United States. Also today, there will be at least 4 people that will win the multimillion dollar lotteries, 600 people will get promotions at work, and 3,000 people will lose their virginity. There will also be 600 dogs adopted, 35,000 balloons sold, and 800,000 skittles eaten. Plus, the words “I love you” will be said over 9 million times. So again, I know today is Monday and you assume it’s going to suck, but just smile, because according to statistics, it should actually be a really nice day.

You have to let go.

No matter how many times I tell you this, you’re still thinking, thinking, judging, coming to conclusions, trying to work out your life. You have to let go. Totally, absolutely, completely.

—

Robert Adams

Don't be too lazy to think.

“There is no such thing as a person. There are only restrictions and limitations. The sum total of these defines the person. You think you know yourself when you know what you are. But you never know who you are. The person merely appears to be, like the space within the pot appears to have the shape and volume and smell of the pot. See that you are not what you believe yourself to be. Fight with all the strength at your disposal against the idea that you are nameable and describable. You are not. Refuse to think of yourself in terms of this or that. There is no other way out of misery, which you have created for yourself through blind acceptance without investigation. Suffering is a call for enquiry, all pain needs investigation. Don’t be too lazy to think.”

—	Nisargadatta

The Unicorn Diaries.

She loved the arts, music, paints, nature. Hans Christian Anderson, Van Gogh, Tchaikovsky. They were her favourites. She loved Tchaikovsky because he made his sadness into warmth, Sleeping Beauty, Swan Lake, The Nutcracker, Symphony No.6. She loved Vincent because she felt his loneliness in his paintings. But she couldn’t look at his sunflowers for too long, the yellows stung her eyes. Feeling too much Feeling is too much sometimes. She told me how she thought it was weird you know, that all these people who created such beautiful things were so sad. How sometimes the sadness was so strong that they ended their own lives. Their last work of art.
She said she thought that most geniuses were lonely. I said I thought everyone was lonely. That even the Moon is lonely, and that’s why it pulls on the tides.

Don't forget your dreams.

He asked why people are sad. “That’s simple,” says the old man. “They are the prisoners of their personal history. Everyone believes that the main aim in life is to follow a plan. They never ask if that plan is theirs or if it was created by another person. They accumulate experiences, memories, things, other people’s ideas, and it is more than they can possibly cope with. And that is why they forget their dreams.

—

Paulo Coelho

Being a Wallflower.

So, I guess we are who we are for alot of reasons. And maybe we’ll never know most of them. But even if we don’t have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them.

—

Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

That's it.

I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together.

― Lisa Kleypas

What's left to be afraid of?

Because being scared doesn’t help you. Reality is uglier and harsher than anything we like to admit to ourselves, and yet it’s pointless to be scared since your fear will not protect you. Fear is only useful if it alerts you of a danger you can avoid, but if there’s no possible way to avoid it, if it’s inevitable that it’ll crush you no matter how hard you fight, then what’s the point of being afraid? If you have no hope of survival, what’s left to be afraid of?

― Daniele Bolelli

The Ancient Art of Stoic Joy.

By contemplating the impermanence of everything in the world, we are forced to recognize that every time we do something could be the last time we do it, and this recognition can invest the things we do with a significance and intensity that would otherwise be absent. We will no longer sleepwalk through our life.

― William B. Irvine, A Guide to the Good Life: The Ancient Art of Stoic Joy

Trust your instincts.

“Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even close. You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes. But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider, watching the “normal people” as they go about their automatic existences. For every time you say club passwords like “Have a nice day” and “Weather’s awful today, eh?”, you yearn inside to say forbidden things like “Tell me something that makes you cry” or “What do you think deja vu is for?”. Face it, you even want to talk to that girl in the elevator. But what if that girl in the elevator (and the balding man who walks past your cubicle at work) are thinking the same thing? Who knows what you might learn from taking a chance on conversation with a stranger? Everyone carries a piece of the puzzle. Nobody comes into your life by mere coincidence. Trust your instincts. Do the unexpected. Find the others.”

—	Timothy Leary

Sad nights.

“It’s just that I feel so sad these wonderful nights. I sort of feel they’re never coming again, and I’m not really getting all I could out of them.”

—

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Phases.

“I go through phases. Somedays I feel like the person I’m supposed to be, and then somedays, I turn into no one at all. There is both me and my silhouette. I hope that on the days you find me and all I am are darkened lines, you still are willing to be near me.”

—	Mary Kate Teske

When.

However she is, drunk or sober, she thinks of life and death. Day or night. Sad or happy. She thinks of her life, of her mission here on earth and how it will be her future and destiny.  She thinks of her death too. How it will be. Hard or easy, painful or peaceful. But especially, when. When will everything end.

Nothing holds me.

My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me.

- Fernando Pessoa

Hello December.

“It’s usually the selfish people who are loved the most. They do what you deny yourself, and you love them for it. You give them your heart.”

—	Saul Bellow

The ways, our ways.

Life has many ways of testing a person’s will – either by having nothing happen at all, or by having everything happen at once.

― Paulo Coelho

We are responsible.

I think we’re always responsible for our actions. We’re free. I raise my hand - I’m responsible. I turn my head - I’m responsible. I am unhappy - I’m responsible. I smoke - I’m responsible. I shut my eyes - I’m responsible. I forget I’m responsible, but I am. I told you there’s no escape.

Vivre Sa Vie, 1962 - Anna Karina

Ignorance.

“What I hate is ignorance, smallness of imagination, the eye that sees no farther than its own lashes. All things are possible.. Who you are is limited only by who you think you are.”

—	Egyptian Book of the Dead

I'm alive.

“I want to feel all there is to feel, he thought. Let me feel tired, now, let me feel tired. I mustn’t forget, I’m alive, I know I’m alive, I mustn’t forget it tonight or tomorrow or the day after that.”

—	Ray Bradbury

Novembro 21

Palavras.
Muitos falam e nada dizem.
Palavras.
Com tanta variedade e escolha, não sei o que dizer.
Palavras.
Podem ter o seu encanto.
Muitas vezes, não.
Não se chama ódio.
Simplesmente não gosto quando usam as palavras de certa forma.
Quando são palavras que transmitem sensações.
Ou quando não transmitem nada e são gastas.
Ditas em vão.
Palavras.
Sem sentido.
Comunicar.
Esse acto de "comunicar" apenas devia ser com os olhos.
Não com expressões. Não com palavras.
Apenas com o brilho dos olhos.
Apenas a simples demonstração de tudo.
Com os olhos.
Oh, palavras.
Muitas são terríveis, outras são cruéis. 

The reason you're here.

“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.”

—	Louise Erdric

Disgusting Habit.

“I’ve decided never to fall in love again. It’s a disgusting habit. Ten minutes ago, I saw death everywhere. Now it’s just the opposite. Look at the sea, the waves, the sky. Life may be sad, but it’s always beautiful.”

—	Anna Karina, Pierrot le Fou

You are the only one.

“No one else has access to the world you carry around within yourself; you are its custodian and entrance. No one else can see the world the way you see it. No one else can feel your life the way you feel it. Thus it is impossible to ever compare two people because each stands on such different ground. When you compare yourself to others, you are inviting envy into your consciousness; it can be a dangerous and destructive guest.”

—	John O’Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

Autumn Gold

“Of all seasons, give me the Autumn, the leaf. In the early hours, I, an old lover in love with the woods, go forth to listen to their undersong and pause, half expectant, waiting to hear unimagined music. Nor do I wholly wait in vain, for the air thrills with a mystical Benediction. The tragic tangle of our life lies far away. The golden chestnuts yonder, that crest the rising hills, are transfigured in the Joy of the morning. I walk through the land of the poets, and breathe the fragrance of its carpet of fallen leaves. At such a moment who is so blind as not to see above the Amaranth heights of Earth, a phantome tracery beyond! And when the red sunshine kindles upon the Garden of Eden, a mist sheen floats in the radiant distance—as it were the incense of Peace and sweet remembrance … and the loves of by-gone days.”

—	Autumn Gold by John Kirkrapine

Tudo me interessa.

“E assim sou, fútil e sensível, capaz de impulsos violentos e absorventes, maus e bons, nobres e vis, mas nunca de um sentimento que subsista, nunca de uma emoção que continue, e entre para a substância da alma. Tudo em mim é a tendência para ser a seguir outra coisa: uma impaciência da alma consigo mesma, como com uma criança inoportuna; um desassossego sempre crescente e sempre igual.
Tudo me interessa e nada me prende.
Atendo a tudo sonhando sempre; fixo os mínimos gestos faciais de com quem falo, recolho as entoações milimétricas dos seus dizeres expressos; mas ao ouvi-lo, não o escuto, estou pensando noutra coisa, e o que menos colhi da conversa foi a noção do que nela se disse, da minha parte ou da parte de com quem falei.
Assim, muitas vezes, repito a alguém o que já lhe repeti, pergunto-lhe de novo aquilo a que ele já me respondeu; mas posso descrever, em quatro palavras fotográficas, o semblante muscular com que ele disse o que me não lembra, ou a inclinação de ouvir com os olhos com que recebeu a narrativa que me não recordava ter-lhe feito. Sou dois, e ambos têm a distância — irmãos siameses que não estão pegados.”

—	Fernando Pessoa (Bernardo Soares, Livro do Desassossego)

I hope it's beautiful...

“Thomas Edison’s last words were: ‘It’s very beautiful over there.’ I don’t know where there is, but I believe it’s somewhere, and I hope it’s beautiful.”

—

John Green; Looking for Alaska

Never doubt.

You. You that know everything about me without knowing. You that look at me with those eyes that purifies my soul. You, the one who talks at me with words that have feelings. Oh you. Please, keep knowing simple things like when I'm drunk or when I smoke. You're always right so please, never doubt. The day when you doubt, I know that you stoped loving me.

I want to make this dream, something real.

Today I'm in love.

I simply love the smell of nature and people's eyes. I simply love not being sober and don't think in details. I love how the day starts and how it ends. I love to smile and to see smiles. I'm loving every moment here and I don't want this to end.

Oh, I do know everything...

“I was extremely withdrawn. I was not a functioning part of teenage life. I was quite a recluse. My stupidity was in my believing that I knew all there was to know. I genuinely thought I had the world pegged. I was an incredible misanthrope. I couldn’t relate to people my age, and I’m not sure why, as I wasn’t particularly smart or interesting.”
— Laura Marling  

Stay eager.

“Do stuff. Be clenched, be curious, not waiting for inspiration’s shove or society’s kiss on your forehead. Pay attention. It’s all about paying attention. Attention is vitality. It connects you with others. It makes you eager. Stay eager.”
- Susan Sontag

What's love after all...

I'm not in love. I'm not in love with anyone or anything. I'm not in love with the sun, with the moon, with the children's smile, with animals or with the nature. I'm not in love with songs, with books, with the summer or winter. Not even in love with poetry and art. That's the saddest thing of all; I'm not in love with life.

Speak.

I know my head isn’t screwed on straight. I want to leave, transfer, warp myself to another galaxy. I want to confess everything, hand over the guilt and mistake and anger to someone else. There is a beast in my gut, I can hear it scraping away at the inside of my ribs. Even if I dump the memory, it will stay with me, staining me. My closest is a good thing, a quiet place that helps me hold these thoughts inside my head where no one can hear them.
— Laurie Halse Anderson

Windows.

“We should breathe, dream and lengthen out the hours by the infinity of sensations. So love everything even if it is not exactly real: water and clouds, night and silence, the vast green sea; the formless and multiform water; the place where you shall never be; the lover whom you shall never know; unnatural flowers, odors which make men drunk; the cats that languish upon pianos and sob like women, with hoarse sweet voices! For I think to myself: What does it matter, what does any reality outside of myself matter, if it has helped me to live, to feel that I am, and what I am?”
— Charles Baudelaire

This is my teenager.

“As a teenager, I didn’t want to be me; I wanted to be many different people. Maybe I realized that they all lived inside me and that if I managed to connect with them, they would become aspects of me.” 
- Marion Cotillard

Simples Sensações.

A natureza sobrepõe-se à felicidade. Porque é a natureza, ela própria, que nos faz feliz. Que nos dá felicidade. É o vento. É a terra. É a água. São as mais pequenas coisas. Simples sensações. Isso dá-nos felicidade de um tal modo que mata. Que dói. Que te enche o coração ao máximo e parece que vai explodir. Que tal sensação única. Acredito que seja a felicidade. É o vento a bater, a velocidade, a paisagem da natureza, o brilho das suas cores, a frescura de tudo... Uma paz tremenda. Logo, a natureza e simples sensações dão-nos felicidade. Enchem-nos o coração de tal forma. E o mal vai embora. É simples. Basta viver. Basta estar vivo.

Sometimes destroyed.

The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice. Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed.

The Mysterious Stranger by Mark Twain

There is no god, no universe, no human race, no earthly life, no heaven, no hell. It is all a dream - a grotesque and foolish dream. Nothing exists but you. And you are but a thought - a vagrant thought, a useless thought, a homeless thought, wandering forlorn among the empty eternities.

 

The Waves, Virginia Woolf.

I see nothing. We may sink and settle on the waves. The sea will drum in my ears. The white petals will be darkened with sea water. They will float for a moment and then sink. Rolling over the waves will shoulder me under. Everything falls in a tremendous shower, dissolving me.

Minds.

It’s beautiful when you find someone that is in love with your mind. Someone that wants to undress your conscience and make love to your thoughts. Someone that wants to watch you slowly take down all the walls you’ve built up around your mind and let them inside.

Words by Gary Zukav.

"The more you need people to agree with you, the less open you are to what they think, feel, and believe. You cannot share with them because you are trying to change them, and they cannot share with you because you are not listening."
- Gary Zukav

Our lives are waves.

Our lives are waves that come up out of the ocean of eternity, break upon the beach of earth, and lapse back to the ocean of eternity. Some are sunlit, some run in storm and rain; one is a quiet ripple, another is a thunderous breaker; and once in many centuries comes a great tidal wave that sweeps over a continent; but all go back to the sea and lie equally level there.
— Austin O’Malley

Looking For Alaska

“You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking how you’ll escape one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.”

—	John Green, Looking For Alaska

The Power of Now

Use your senses fully. Be where you are. Look around. Just look, don’t interpret. See the light, shapes, colors, textures. Be aware of the silent presence of each thing. Be aware of the space that allows everything to be. Listen to the sounds; don’t judge them. Listen to the silence underneath the sounds. Touch something - anything - and feel and acknowledge its Being. Observe the rhythm of your breathing; feel the air flowing in and out, feel the life energy inside your body. Allow everything to be, within and without. Allow the “isness” of all things. Move deeply into the Now.

Eckhart Tolle; The Power of Now

Rest In Peace, my good friend.

"A vida é injusta." É a frase que só esta manhã ouvi, li, pensei, pensaram e disseram imensas vezes. A vida é aquilo, a vida é uma passagem, a vida ponto e mais qualquer coisa. É uma pena, é uma perda.
Na verdade, não é a vida que me choca, mas sim a morte. A morte é que aparece quando menos esperamos. A morte é que põe um fim à nossa passagem, ao nosso destino e nos prega estas partidas. Fiquei totalmente estranha, triste e mal disposta quando descobri um falecimento de um amigo/colega de turma meu. Um amigo que ainda há poucas horas estava com um sorriso na cara, com vontade de viver, com sonhos para o futuro, com uma energia enorme e uma alegria contagiosa. Uma espécie de pessoa que nunca pára, que todos conhecem. Uma pessoa que apesar de tudo o que dizia, nos fazia sorrir e rir, porque era mesmo assim. Foi algo chocante de saber.
Que tinha sido as últimas aulas com ele. Que nada mais irá ser o mesmo. E questões como "Porquê?" ficam a flutuar na cabeça de todos.
Talvez ele já tinha uma vida tão completa, que teve de partir. Talvez ele já tinha vivido tudo e sabia de como isto da vida era, que teve de partir. São sugestões. São afirmações inquietas que me passam pela cabeça e soam-me mal. Se é assim, então que seja. Mas para todos. Mas é a lei da vida e disso eu não percebo. Apenas questiono.
O que apenas quero é paz. Seja o que seja depois da morte, que seja paz. Porque descansar, só em paz. E todos lhe desejam isso. Descansa em paz, Luís.

Blue Jeans

Este Verão foi a valer.
Eu acho que é praticamente isso que tenho a dizer.
As minhas férias... foram as melhores.
Sempre com um sorriso na cara, sempre com vontade de comunicar, sempre positiva, sempre a admirar o brilho do sol, sempre pronta a ajudar, sempre aqui.
Mudei também um bocado a forma de ser, mas não a forma de pensar.
Reparei também que tudo muda. Ou para melhor ou para pior.
Mas pronto, só queria aqui deixar a prova de como gostei deste belo Verão, desta bela amargura, destes belos pensamentos que sempre me acompanharam (e não deviam) entre imensos outros momentos e situações que marcaram.
Ah, e também gostaria de dizer que vou começar este ano lectivo em grande porque assim deve ser. Já conheci imensa gente nova e vou conhecer mais porque eu sei que vou. Vou tentar gostar de abraços, porque eu não gosto de abraços e eu tenho de gostar.
Também prometo ser mais querida e fofinha para o meu Milk, o meu gatinho mais lindo, o meu peludinho de pêlo branco como a neve.
Desculpem não estar a postar muito aqui no meu blog, não tenho tido paciência e imaginação para tal mas pronto, é o resultado das férias. Durante o meu período de aulas, também pouco devo postar, mas fiquem à espera, eu volto sempre!

Um beijinho a todos ♡

#1

“People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they’re afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It’s all in how you carry it. That’s what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you’re letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.”

— Jim Morrison

Deny the obvious, uphold the insane.

Lonely Life.

Anna Karina - Photoset1

 

 

 

There's No Way Back.

The Sun, The Sky & The Flowers.

What is the color of the pain?