<?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-6963715164232114203</id><updated>2012-01-26T02:56:38.223-02:00</updated><title type='text'>É melhor ficar subentendido...</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>177</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-4565801680433650154</id><published>2011-08-15T23:37:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2011-08-15T23:40:57.090-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Eu esperava muito mais de você, essa é que é a verdade.&lt;div&gt;Depois de trocentas noites de confissões e promessas, eu esperancei algo que iludi ser real.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-4565801680433650154?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4565801680433650154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4565801680433650154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2011/08/eu-esperava-muito-mais-de-voce-essa-e.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-7310001527847215117</id><published>2011-08-06T00:36:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2011-08-06T00:46:48.798-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Are you happy?</title><content type='html'>Sinto o grito preso na garganta... sufocado. Me sufocando.&lt;div&gt;A dor é tamanha. Que de tão grande não consigo expo-la.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tendo respirar o mais fundo que consigo. Me perco... manter o foco dói, é quase impossível. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;E a lágrima escorre.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Para libertar o grito, a dor e talvez, trazer aquela falsa sensação de conforto.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-7310001527847215117?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7310001527847215117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7310001527847215117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2011/08/are-you-happy.html' title='Are you happy?'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-2050464749081635420</id><published>2011-07-15T00:52:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2011-07-15T00:56:05.723-03:00</updated><title type='text'>um você, que não é bem você...</title><content type='html'>Eu não sei você, mas eu ainda penso em você todas as noites, antes de dormir.&lt;div&gt;Eu ainda fico fantasiando o dia em que você virá de encontro à mim.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Não é você quem eu quero de volta, é o sentimento, e ter com quem sonhar... entende?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-2050464749081635420?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2050464749081635420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2050464749081635420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2011/07/um-voce-que-nao-e-bem-voce.html' title='um você, que não é bem você...'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5008341980199335618</id><published>2011-07-13T23:41:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-07-13T23:46:43.616-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; "&gt;&lt;strong class="editable_area" style="height: 15px; "&gt;  Wait For Me&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; "&gt;&lt;a id="info_url_artist" href="http://www.vagalume.com.br/rise-against/" style="color: rgb(0, 100, 119); cursor: pointer; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; text-decoration: none; display: inline; font-style: italic; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 5px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 5px; "&gt;Rise Against&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; "&gt;&lt;span class="editable_area" itemprop="description"&gt;Do you see the world in different colors?&lt;br /&gt;Do you see the world in black and gray?&lt;br /&gt;Alone in your thoughts&lt;br /&gt;How many others have stood where you stand&lt;br /&gt;Where you stand today?&lt;br /&gt;I've stood where you stand&lt;br /&gt;But all, can you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wait for me now?&lt;br /&gt;Take off this crown&lt;br /&gt;To break all that defiles&lt;br /&gt;Don't you know?&lt;br /&gt;Wait for me now&lt;br /&gt;The end's robbed me now&lt;br /&gt;Wait for me, wait for me&lt;br /&gt;Wait for me, wait for me now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The promise of safe return undelivered&lt;br /&gt;The ocean is wider than I first guessed&lt;br /&gt;When roads disappeared, I followed the rivers&lt;br /&gt;But somehow got in over my head&lt;br /&gt;So deep I felt taken&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wait for me now?&lt;br /&gt;Take off this crown&lt;br /&gt;To break all that defiles&lt;br /&gt;Don't you know?&lt;br /&gt;Wait for me now&lt;br /&gt;The end's robbed me now&lt;br /&gt;Wait for me, wait for me&lt;br /&gt;Wait for me, wait for me now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lost dream of what could have been&lt;br /&gt;A house on fire, a tangled web&lt;br /&gt;The key turns to find the locks have changed&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In time to hear the back door slam&lt;br /&gt;A sound that to this day I can't forget&lt;br /&gt;The colors drained to black and gray&lt;br /&gt;Oh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wait for me now?&lt;br /&gt;Take off this crown&lt;br /&gt;To break all that defiles&lt;br /&gt;Don't you know?&lt;br /&gt;Wait for me now&lt;br /&gt;The end's robbed me now&lt;br /&gt;Wait for me, wait for me&lt;br /&gt;Wait for me, wait for me now&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-5008341980199335618?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5008341980199335618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5008341980199335618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2011/07/wait-for-me-rise-against-do-you-see.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-7735923490575784181</id><published>2011-05-30T00:21:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2011-05-30T00:29:37.210-03:00</updated><title type='text'>a crise,</title><content type='html'>sufoca.&lt;br /&gt;cega.&lt;br /&gt;dói.&lt;br /&gt;pesa.&lt;br /&gt;queima.&lt;br /&gt;prende.&lt;br /&gt;aperta.&lt;br /&gt;seca.&lt;br /&gt;rasga.&lt;br /&gt;os ouvidos estão tampados, pareço ter um punho em minha garganta. Que sufoca, me sufoca. A cabeça pesa, e a visão perde-se. Me faz reviver aquele momento, em que ainda há o mínimo de lucidez, antes de desmaiar.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-7735923490575784181?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7735923490575784181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7735923490575784181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2011/05/crise.html' title='a crise,'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-2202158141947418265</id><published>2010-12-14T00:10:00.004-02:00</published><updated>2012-01-26T02:56:38.228-02:00</updated><title type='text'>Festeja Eu, Festejas Tu, Festeja Ele...</title><content type='html'>Por mais que eu me entregue às terapias, e aos livros de auto-ajuda.&lt;br /&gt;Por mais que eu ouça as vozes da experiência,&lt;br /&gt;que sempre me dizem que eu preciso de uma vez por todas "não precisar de você".&lt;br /&gt;A minha alma grita aqui dentro.&lt;br /&gt;E por mais feliz que eu esteja, a festa é sempre pela metade.&lt;br /&gt;E que é você que eu sempre busco, com a minha gargalhada alta.&lt;br /&gt;Com a minha perdição em festejar, porque é preciso festejar.&lt;br /&gt;Festejar com a minha solidão.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-2202158141947418265?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2202158141947418265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2202158141947418265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2010/12/festeja-eu-festejas-tu-festeja-ele.html' title='Festeja Eu, Festejas Tu, Festeja Ele...'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-6593909259816071995</id><published>2010-10-05T22:17:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2010-10-05T22:19:59.542-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>e os sonhos de ontem, hoje estão em cacos.&lt;br /&gt;Cacos que cortam.&lt;br /&gt;cortes tão profundos que custam à cicatrizar.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-6593909259816071995?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6593909259816071995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6593909259816071995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2010/10/e-os-sonhos-de-ontem-hoje-estao-em.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-2216214393962245256</id><published>2010-09-12T16:33:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-09-12T16:35:09.591-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>" e a cor dos olhos daquele moço&lt;br /&gt;me fez ter um motivo para levantar da cama&lt;br /&gt;todas as manhãs..."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-2216214393962245256?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2216214393962245256'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2216214393962245256'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2010/09/e-cor-dos-olhos-daquele-moco-me-fez-ter_12.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-818496977324631293</id><published>2010-09-12T16:33:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2010-09-12T16:34:30.732-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>" e a cor dos olhos daquele moço&lt;br /&gt;me fez ter um motivo para levantar da cama&lt;br /&gt;todas as manhãs..."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-818496977324631293?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/818496977324631293'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/818496977324631293'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2010/09/e-cor-dos-olhos-daquele-moco-me-fez-ter.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-7116954645998835722</id><published>2010-07-18T19:08:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2010-07-18T19:08:58.960-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>E encho o dia de hoje com esperanças,&lt;br /&gt;para o dia de amanhã.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-7116954645998835722?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7116954645998835722'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7116954645998835722'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2010/07/e-encho-o-dia-de-hoje-com-esperancas.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-7963261340291282886</id><published>2010-03-10T00:25:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-10T00:25:52.431-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/S5cRN23-ncI/AAAAAAAAAHY/prK_38H7q_g/s1600-h/intheheart.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446841204094180802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/S5cRN23-ncI/AAAAAAAAAHY/prK_38H7q_g/s320/intheheart.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&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/6963715164232114203-7963261340291282886?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7963261340291282886'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7963261340291282886'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2010/03/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/S5cRN23-ncI/AAAAAAAAAHY/prK_38H7q_g/s72-c/intheheart.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-8838559648295360510</id><published>2010-02-28T02:34:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-09T19:27:36.994-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"- Garçom! Eu quero um surto, acompanhado de um colápso nervoso bem forte, e uma falha de memória de efeito prolongado, por favor!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-8838559648295360510?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8838559648295360510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8838559648295360510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2010/02/garcom-eu-quero-um-surto-acompanhado.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-1961590211057493718</id><published>2010-02-19T23:56:00.003-02:00</published><updated>2010-02-20T00:15:07.899-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>e até parece que a ressaca escolheu um novo mar para perturbar.&lt;br /&gt;e, é como se os pensamentos revirassem, invertessem a ordem de fatos e datas...&lt;br /&gt;enjoando os olhos, e fazendo das palavras vômitos.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-1961590211057493718?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/1961590211057493718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/1961590211057493718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2010/02/e-ate-parece-que-ressaca-escolheu-um.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-8371967549908209623</id><published>2010-02-08T00:10:00.003-02:00</published><updated>2010-02-20T00:01:16.052-02:00</updated><title type='text'>confusão.</title><content type='html'>quero que este sentimento se apague.&lt;br /&gt;quero que esta esperança evapore.&lt;br /&gt;quero que esta agonia dê vazão há outros sentimentos...&lt;br /&gt;só quero que essa dor acabe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;há uma parte que espera desesperadamente por um telefone, mensagem ou alguma forma de comunicação, para dizer que irá ficar tudo bem novamente. há uma parte que deseja estar junto, denovo. e o todo, o todo sente a sua falta, e se afunda, cada vez mais.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-8371967549908209623?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8371967549908209623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8371967549908209623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2010/02/confusao.html' title='confusão.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-83169005304175105</id><published>2010-02-06T01:31:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2010-02-08T00:16:27.844-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>não diga mais nenhuma palavra...&lt;br /&gt;e eu salvarei em mim, uma foto e uma canção.&lt;br /&gt;irá bastar, por este instante.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-83169005304175105?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/83169005304175105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/83169005304175105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2010/02/nao-diga-mais-nenhuma-palavra.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-7441017787302368976</id><published>2010-02-03T01:07:00.003-02:00</published><updated>2010-02-03T01:22:12.484-02:00</updated><title type='text'>preciso de pílulas, pílulas de força.</title><content type='html'>Eu vi a minha vida virar do avesso, em um mês. Sim, miseros um mês... é lógico que haviam sinais, mas eu era cega. Eu perdi as minhas maiores certezas, eu perdi a minha luta, eu perdi o amor, perdi... As lágrimas rolam sem autorização, a voz afroxa, e o nó no peito permanecem.&lt;br /&gt;O sonho que acabou em pesadelo, a certeza que hoje é dúvida, a força que escorreu pelo ralo.&lt;br /&gt;Gostaria de me afogar em uma bebida de gosto doce, só para disfarçar esse amargo sem fim, gostaria de ter um "voltar" para poder recomeçar, gostaria de ter convicção de que isso tudo acabará bem. Eu não quero um adeus!!!&lt;br /&gt;Me lembro de meu pai cantar "beautiful girl, stay with me", e também me lembro do mesmo falar que nada nesse mundo era fácil, e eu não entendia. Pois naqueles tempos, eu me preocupava, somente, em como se chamaria a minha nova barbie.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-7441017787302368976?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7441017787302368976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7441017787302368976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2010/02/preciso-de-pilulas-pilulas-de-forca.html' title='preciso de pílulas, pílulas de força.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-237213752113459814</id><published>2010-02-01T22:19:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2010-02-01T22:25:32.159-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/S2dwuQLCKwI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/coQEf0qO5mg/s1600-h/outono.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433435415363332866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/S2dwuQLCKwI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/coQEf0qO5mg/s320/outono.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Sem começos, meios e fins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&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/6963715164232114203-237213752113459814?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/237213752113459814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/237213752113459814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2010/02/sem-comecos-meios-e-fins.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/S2dwuQLCKwI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/coQEf0qO5mg/s72-c/outono.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-3214661675962595113</id><published>2010-01-31T00:14:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2010-01-31T00:19:24.978-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"astúcia sufoca o peito o medo e a contravenção&lt;br /&gt;caminho por ruas, bifurcações mas no fim da minha rua&lt;br /&gt;tem areia branca o céu, o sol, o mar..." - Mombojó&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ninguém me disse que seria fácil, porém não sabiam me dizer a intensidade da dor. Me cobram força e coragem, e eu... Bom, eu...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-3214661675962595113?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3214661675962595113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3214661675962595113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2010/01/astucia-sufoca-o-peito-o-medo-e.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5286698941558294100</id><published>2009-12-21T19:31:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2009-12-21T19:32:47.191-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/Sy_pYo9ubQI/AAAAAAAAAG8/e4ZP9zGXkzo/s1600-h/circus4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417805486272441602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 251px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/Sy_pYo9ubQI/AAAAAAAAAG8/e4ZP9zGXkzo/s320/circus4.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&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/6963715164232114203-5286698941558294100?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5286698941558294100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5286698941558294100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/12/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/Sy_pYo9ubQI/AAAAAAAAAG8/e4ZP9zGXkzo/s72-c/circus4.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5487114081515294124</id><published>2009-09-18T00:11:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2009-09-18T00:11:58.292-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>hoje, entre nós fica&lt;br /&gt;o céu distante&lt;br /&gt;e o silêncio da carícia...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-5487114081515294124?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5487114081515294124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5487114081515294124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/09/hoje-entre-nos-fica-o-ceu-distante-e-o.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5809934351466007935</id><published>2009-08-02T19:13:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2009-08-02T19:18:22.308-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Tudo longe.</title><content type='html'>De janela em janela, vou passando, vou olhando e me deixando...&lt;br /&gt;Me deixando e me perdendo, já não sei mais quem sou.&lt;br /&gt;Já não me reconheço mais.&lt;br /&gt;Não há mais a vontade, o brilho e a alegria...&lt;br /&gt;Não há mais amigos, nem sorrisos ou carinhos.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-5809934351466007935?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5809934351466007935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5809934351466007935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/08/tudo-longe.html' title='Tudo longe.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5063358435457632094</id><published>2009-05-15T13:14:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-05-15T13:15:53.407-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/Sg2VD8dtXVI/AAAAAAAAAG0/mNs_hNQq-NA/s1600-h/heart+windown.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336085028506787154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/Sg2VD8dtXVI/AAAAAAAAAG0/mNs_hNQq-NA/s320/heart+windown.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;"... mas preciso do seu sorriso, para ser feliz."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-5063358435457632094?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5063358435457632094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5063358435457632094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/05/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/Sg2VD8dtXVI/AAAAAAAAAG0/mNs_hNQq-NA/s72-c/heart+windown.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-1242383609220956214</id><published>2009-05-12T13:44:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2009-05-12T13:46:43.127-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>apaixona-se pela alma que o outro traz, pela inquietação ou sossego ocasionado pela presença/ausencia do mesmo.&lt;br /&gt;ama-se pelo cheiro, gosto, tato, olhares, palavras, atitudes e sincronismo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-1242383609220956214?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/1242383609220956214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/1242383609220956214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/05/apaixona-se-pela-alma-que-o-outro-traz.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5725500487416067159</id><published>2009-05-11T01:14:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T01:14:48.044-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>posso definir como, personificação do amor.&lt;br /&gt;E isso basta.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-5725500487416067159?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5725500487416067159'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5725500487416067159'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/05/posso-definir-como-personificacao-do.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-6594590659744259352</id><published>2009-05-11T00:45:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T01:15:32.115-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"O moço toca flauta enquanto ela lembra das virtudes esquecidas nas cavernas de seu coração. A melodia vai ecoando por toda parte, desde os ouvidos até o pulmão. Ela tropeça nela mesma enquanto se enternece com o som raro daquela flauta. E a tristeza transversal que até então lhe preenchia dá lugar a uma euforia luminosa, assim sem razão de ser, mas já sendo."&lt;br /&gt;Que seja eterno, é o que eu espero, é tudo que eu peço, é tudo o que eu mais quero.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-6594590659744259352?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6594590659744259352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6594590659744259352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/05/o-moco-toca-flauta-enquanto-ela-lembra.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-6617646087398401352</id><published>2009-04-25T23:13:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-04-25T23:14:51.066-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SfPDfh3l0OI/AAAAAAAAAGs/HpAAf-O6EDE/s1600-h/heart+tree.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328817730544324834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SfPDfh3l0OI/AAAAAAAAAGs/HpAAf-O6EDE/s320/heart+tree.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Siga o coelho até a árvore dos corações ;)&lt;br /&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/6963715164232114203-6617646087398401352?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6617646087398401352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6617646087398401352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/04/siga-o-coelho-ate-arvore-dos-coracoes.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SfPDfh3l0OI/AAAAAAAAAGs/HpAAf-O6EDE/s72-c/heart+tree.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5395289416244545180</id><published>2009-04-22T23:48:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2009-04-22T23:53:40.249-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Todas as músicas românticas que variam do mpb ao metal melodico, não são o suficiênte para expressar em palavras o que sinto por você.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-5395289416244545180?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5395289416244545180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5395289416244545180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/04/todas-as-musicas-romanticas-que-variam.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-7206601586306554709</id><published>2009-04-21T22:47:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-04-21T22:48:21.346-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"You're my Sunday, Make my Monday come alive, Just like Tuesday you're a new day, wakes me up, Wednesday's raining, Thursday's yearning, Friday nights, Then it all ends at the weekend, you're my star "&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-7206601586306554709?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7206601586306554709'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7206601586306554709'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/04/youre-my-sunday-make-my-monday-come.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-8283604808930126320</id><published>2009-04-14T10:55:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T10:56:28.264-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>e vejo flores em você ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;te amo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-8283604808930126320?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8283604808930126320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8283604808930126320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/04/e-vejo-flores-em-voce-te-amo.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-6552341825037878496</id><published>2009-03-04T23:25:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T10:57:10.111-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>e aí, quem você menos espera aparece, e aquele que parecia se importar, some como se nada tivesse acontecido.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-6552341825037878496?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6552341825037878496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6552341825037878496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/03/e-ai-quem-voce-menos-espera-aparece-e.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-6409900779559099287</id><published>2009-03-01T00:37:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-03-01T00:38:36.780-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SaoDM4pIKVI/AAAAAAAAAGc/uk9MKx73AnA/s1600-h/failus.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308058630707751250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SaoDM4pIKVI/AAAAAAAAAGc/uk9MKx73AnA/s320/failus.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&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/6963715164232114203-6409900779559099287?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6409900779559099287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6409900779559099287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/03/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SaoDM4pIKVI/AAAAAAAAAGc/uk9MKx73AnA/s72-c/failus.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-4364635327391340325</id><published>2009-02-17T15:10:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-02-17T15:11:32.685-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>whatever you say, it's too late...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-4364635327391340325?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4364635327391340325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4364635327391340325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/02/whatever-you-say-its-too-late.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-8478902816096262327</id><published>2009-02-16T00:43:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-02-16T00:50:11.411-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SZjibOLJ1jI/AAAAAAAAAGM/XykW9zZoaso/s1600-h/alcan%C3%A7ar.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303237518517982770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 192px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SZjibOLJ1jI/AAAAAAAAAGM/XykW9zZoaso/s320/alcan%C3%A7ar.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&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/6963715164232114203-8478902816096262327?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8478902816096262327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8478902816096262327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/02/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SZjibOLJ1jI/AAAAAAAAAGM/XykW9zZoaso/s72-c/alcan%C3%A7ar.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-4966406145522287778</id><published>2009-02-13T22:18:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T22:22:47.054-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>sabe, tenho vergonha de dizer tudo o que sinto por você...&lt;br /&gt;nesses dias que mais pareciam eternidades, tive um tempo para pensar e perceber o quanto você me faz falta.&lt;br /&gt;é muito mais do que um bem querer, entende?&lt;br /&gt;tenho um pouco de medo, estou achando que é amor.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-4966406145522287778?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4966406145522287778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4966406145522287778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/02/sabe-tenho-vergonha-de-dizer-tudo-o-que.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5761539759344207968</id><published>2009-01-18T00:23:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2009-01-18T00:25:59.763-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SXKTMTa6s3I/AAAAAAAAAGE/ocdN16hwDQo/s1600-h/chapeu.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292454351694639986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 233px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SXKTMTa6s3I/AAAAAAAAAGE/ocdN16hwDQo/s320/chapeu.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&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/6963715164232114203-5761539759344207968?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5761539759344207968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5761539759344207968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/01/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SXKTMTa6s3I/AAAAAAAAAGE/ocdN16hwDQo/s72-c/chapeu.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-7019566597823397638</id><published>2009-01-18T00:09:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T10:58:07.853-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-7019566597823397638?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7019566597823397638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7019566597823397638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/01/sinto-aquela-sensaco-de-ter-abandonado.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-7600611445941883881</id><published>2009-01-18T00:07:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2009-01-18T00:08:10.780-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>estou com aquela sensacão de ter abandonado aquilo que nunca foi meu de verdade.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-7600611445941883881?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7600611445941883881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7600611445941883881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/01/estou-com-aquela-sensaco-de-ter.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-8304210662229645286</id><published>2009-01-09T22:10:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2009-01-09T22:13:46.051-02:00</updated><title type='text'>e eu...</title><content type='html'>Eu até amarrei um barbante na saída, pra não me perder no seu caminho. Mas tem sempre uma armadilha, tem sempre um cão de guarda. Tem sempre um motivo pra se trancar numa gaiola. E aqui de cima, nada importa mais se estou com você, se estou em você. Se me faço presente em seus pensamentos, sonhos ou planos.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-8304210662229645286?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8304210662229645286'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8304210662229645286'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/01/e-eu.html' title='e eu...'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-2195287565288427331</id><published>2009-01-05T21:47:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2009-01-05T21:48:12.367-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"Você ama aquele cafajeste. Ele diz que vai e não liga, ele veste o primeiro trapo que encontra no armário. Ele não emplaca uma semana nos empregos, está sempre duro, e é meio galinha. Ele não tem amenor vocação para príncipe encantado e ainda assim você não consegue despachá-lo."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-2195287565288427331?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2195287565288427331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2195287565288427331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/01/voc-ama-aquele-cafajeste.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-3460967805769077653</id><published>2009-01-03T23:30:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2009-01-03T23:32:51.397-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>contava as pétalas antes,&lt;br /&gt;para que não desse "mal-me-quer"...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-3460967805769077653?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3460967805769077653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3460967805769077653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2009/01/contava-as-ptalas-antes-para-que-no.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-7895356997152573569</id><published>2008-12-27T21:55:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2008-12-27T21:56:03.735-02:00</updated><title type='text'>everything.</title><content type='html'>Acho que isso é tudo o que eu tenho a lhe dizer.&lt;br /&gt;Desculpe por tudo. Você merece alguém melhor...&lt;br /&gt;Não me procure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-7895356997152573569?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7895356997152573569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7895356997152573569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/12/everything.html' title='everything.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5290634804828433826</id><published>2008-12-22T21:36:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2008-12-22T21:45:26.698-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Eu desejaria, por muitas e muita vezes, nunca ter feito parte da sua vida.&lt;br /&gt;Gostaria que você nunca tivesse me encontrado, e que eu nunca tivesse permitido que o meu mundo fizesse parte do seu.&lt;br /&gt;Eu espero estar fazendo a coisa certa.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-5290634804828433826?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5290634804828433826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5290634804828433826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/12/eu-desejaria-por-muitas-e-muita-vezes.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-6938880736038514327</id><published>2008-12-22T01:13:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2008-12-22T01:15:40.187-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>talvez já seja tempo de aceitar as novas condicões,&lt;br /&gt;encarar com outros olhos as mesmas situacões.&lt;br /&gt;afinal, ao nosso redor as coisas não mudam tanto como imaginamos.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-6938880736038514327?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6938880736038514327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6938880736038514327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/12/talvez-j-seja-tempo-de-aceitar-as-novas.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5023071112306947416</id><published>2008-12-12T19:53:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2008-12-12T19:57:38.057-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>And even when your&lt;br /&gt;hope is gone, move along&lt;br /&gt;move along juts to make it trought, move along!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-5023071112306947416?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5023071112306947416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5023071112306947416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/12/and-even-when-your-hope-is-gone-move.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-2554410572748778879</id><published>2008-12-08T20:06:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T20:09:29.680-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/ST2arUlNeAI/AAAAAAAAAF8/0Go75pYZ8Ug/s1600-h/mar.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277544407397922818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/ST2arUlNeAI/AAAAAAAAAF8/0Go75pYZ8Ug/s320/mar.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Vá em paz, vô.&lt;/div&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/6963715164232114203-2554410572748778879?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2554410572748778879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2554410572748778879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/12/v-em-paz-v.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/ST2arUlNeAI/AAAAAAAAAF8/0Go75pYZ8Ug/s72-c/mar.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-257273604114739742</id><published>2008-12-07T00:12:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2008-12-07T00:15:15.824-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>É horrivel ter a sensação de estar no lugar errado, na hora errada.&lt;br /&gt;De estar perdendo coisas que não deveria perder, de estar perdendo os que mais me amam.&lt;br /&gt;Mas sou uma Bruna só. So posso estar aqui e agora.&lt;br /&gt;Agora eu queria ser uma estrela gigante. Eu quero brilhar forte, mesmo que seja pra brilhar sozinha. Eu queria que todo mundo entendesse isso.&lt;br /&gt;Eu sempre quero que todo mundo entenda tudo,&lt;br /&gt;mas acho que isso é querer um pouco de mais.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-257273604114739742?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/257273604114739742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/257273604114739742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/12/horrivel-ter-sensao-de-estar-no-lugar.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-4999177820161679957</id><published>2008-12-02T21:30:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2008-12-02T21:35:00.185-02:00</updated><title type='text'>Tanto, é tanto, se ao menos você soubesse...</title><content type='html'>"Coveiros gemem tristes ais&lt;br /&gt;E realejos ancestrais juram que&lt;br /&gt;Eu não devia mais querer você&lt;br /&gt;Os sinos e os clarins rachados&lt;br /&gt;Zombando tão desafinados&lt;br /&gt;Querem,eu sei,mas é pecado&lt;br /&gt;Eu te perder..."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-4999177820161679957?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4999177820161679957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4999177820161679957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/12/tanto-tanto-se-ao-menos-voc-soubesse.html' title='Tanto, é tanto, se ao menos você soubesse...'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-105524297466875117</id><published>2008-11-30T20:12:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2008-11-30T20:33:38.138-02:00</updated><title type='text'>O MEME</title><content type='html'>Nome: Bruna&lt;br /&gt;Idade: 19 anos&lt;br /&gt;Local de Nascimento: Goiânia.&lt;br /&gt;Peso: 70&lt;br /&gt;Altura: 1.80&lt;br /&gt;Apelido de infância: Brú/Bú&lt;br /&gt;Qual é a sua maior qualidade? Saber da risada de tudo no final.&lt;br /&gt;E seu maior defeito? Ser depressiva e perfeccionista.&lt;br /&gt;Qual é a característica mais importante em um homem? Sensíbilidade&lt;br /&gt;E em uma mulher? O mesmo&lt;br /&gt;Qual é a sua idéia de felicidade? Um fim de tarde com pessoas que gosto em um lugar lindo, com filhotinhos de cachoro. hauahauaahau&lt;br /&gt;E o que seria a maior das tragédias? Perder o meus pais não podendo estar por perto.&lt;br /&gt;Quem você gostaria de ser se não fosse você mesmo? Pôxa, acho que gostaria de ser uma pessoas totalmente o oposto de mim.&lt;br /&gt;E onde gostaria de viver? Na década de 50&lt;br /&gt;Qual é sua cor favorita? lilás&lt;br /&gt;E o seu desenho animado? Snoop&lt;br /&gt;Quais são os seus escritores preferidos? Clarice Lispector.&lt;br /&gt;E seus cantores e / ou grupos musicais? Jimmy Eat World, Millencolin, Rise Against e Placebo.&lt;br /&gt;O que te faz feliz instantaneamente? Ouvir um “eu preciso de você comigo"&lt;br /&gt;Quais dons você gostaria de possuir? Da cura&lt;br /&gt;Tem medo da morte? Da morte em si não, e sim de como morrer&lt;br /&gt;Quem é seu personagem de ficção favorito? fadas em geral&lt;br /&gt;Qual defeito é mais fácil de perdoar? orgulho&lt;br /&gt;Qual é o lema de sua vida? Um dia de cada vez.&lt;br /&gt;Qual sua maior extravagância? Tomar sorvete sem culpa&lt;br /&gt;Qual sua viagem preferida? quando voltava pra Araraquara, na casa de uma amiga de infância.&lt;br /&gt;Se pudesse salvar apenas um objeto de um incêndio, qual seria? a minha agenda&lt;br /&gt;Qual é o maior amor de sua vida? minha mãe&lt;br /&gt;Onde e quando foi mais feliz? Até hoje, fui muito feliz quando criança, e na minha fase de 17 anos&lt;br /&gt;Qual é sua ocupação favorita? assistir desenhos, filmes, jogar conversa fora!&lt;br /&gt;Pensa em ter filhos? sim sim!&lt;br /&gt;Quantos? dois&lt;br /&gt;Um animal de estimação: todos! hauahaua&lt;br /&gt;Uma atividade física: dançar&lt;br /&gt;Um esporte: volei&lt;br /&gt;Um prato que sabe fazer: arroz primavera&lt;br /&gt;Uma comida que gosta: saladas, tortas, comida japonesa em geral&lt;br /&gt;Uma invenção tecnológica sem a qual não vive: computador &gt;.&lt;&lt;br /&gt;Gasta mais dinheiro com: os outros&lt;br /&gt;Uma inabilidade: cálculos, física...&lt;br /&gt;O que não faria em nome da vaidade? Nunca, operaria o meu nariz!&lt;br /&gt;Uma mania: de perfeição&lt;br /&gt;Uma saudade: Do cheiro dele&lt;br /&gt;O primeiro beijo: beijo de verdade foi com 13 anos, em uma festa de aniversário de uam amiga, com gosto de coca-cola. hauhauahaua&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hahããn, gostaria que o Lucas Mezêncio respondesse!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-105524297466875117?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/105524297466875117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/105524297466875117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/11/o-meme.html' title='O MEME'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-2556287616299783280</id><published>2008-11-30T14:42:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2008-11-30T14:42:36.369-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Na noite escura,&lt;br /&gt;prendi a respiração para ver as estrelas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-2556287616299783280?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2556287616299783280'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2556287616299783280'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/11/na-noite-escura-prendi-respirao-para.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-4567613287290577088</id><published>2008-11-27T19:01:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2008-11-27T19:05:14.367-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SS8K8u6EH5I/AAAAAAAAAF0/KK5t2sxAotU/s1600-h/heart.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273445727174139794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SS8K8u6EH5I/AAAAAAAAAF0/KK5t2sxAotU/s320/heart.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Last night!&lt;br /&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/6963715164232114203-4567613287290577088?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4567613287290577088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4567613287290577088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/11/last-night.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SS8K8u6EH5I/AAAAAAAAAF0/KK5t2sxAotU/s72-c/heart.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-7534236820891203803</id><published>2008-11-23T21:07:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2008-11-23T21:13:31.267-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>A Cinderela que deu um chute na bunda do príncipe depois da meia-noite, e não virou abóbora.&lt;br /&gt;Passou a noite dançando com seu sapatinho de cristal, e fez um puta calo no pé.&lt;br /&gt;E ela nem liga pro resto...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-7534236820891203803?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7534236820891203803'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7534236820891203803'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/11/cinderela-que-deu-um-chute-na-bunda-do.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-4230592862632990889</id><published>2008-11-19T17:35:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T17:36:05.073-02:00</updated><title type='text'>eu quero azul!</title><content type='html'>Até o colorido mais raro, se despede de mim...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-4230592862632990889?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4230592862632990889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4230592862632990889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/11/eu-quero-azul.html' title='eu quero azul!'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-8897048491372184100</id><published>2008-11-15T17:23:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2008-11-15T17:24:50.806-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"Eu vivo a vida na ilusão&lt;br /&gt;Entre o chão e os ares&lt;br /&gt;Vou sonhando em outros ares, vou&lt;br /&gt;Fingindo ser o que eu já sou&lt;br /&gt;Mesmo sem eu me libertar,&lt;br /&gt;eu vou." =)&lt;br /&gt;(gosto demais ^^)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-8897048491372184100?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8897048491372184100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8897048491372184100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/11/eu-vivo-vida-na-iluso-entre-o-cho-e-os.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5220740063265112175</id><published>2008-11-11T20:07:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T20:09:49.344-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SRoCbf3tyhI/AAAAAAAAAFM/piP9b9sObz8/s1600-h/shadow.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267525385598126610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 211px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SRoCbf3tyhI/AAAAAAAAAFM/piP9b9sObz8/s320/shadow.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; então, vou levando a minha vida assim&lt;br /&gt;traio a solidão, vou levando porque o acaso é amigo do meu coração.&lt;br /&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/6963715164232114203-5220740063265112175?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5220740063265112175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5220740063265112175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/11/ento-vou-levando-minha-vida-assim-traio.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SRoCbf3tyhI/AAAAAAAAAFM/piP9b9sObz8/s72-c/shadow.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-221950650551717583</id><published>2008-11-07T20:58:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2008-11-07T21:02:43.248-02:00</updated><title type='text'>dói demais.</title><content type='html'>Havia uma angústia maior guardada, e aí quando ele começou a falar desabei a chorar por coisas menores...&lt;br /&gt;Quando ele se foi, todo aquele nó, que já era um nó-de-marinheiro, começava a se soltar... as lágrimas deciam sem mais querer chorar, não havia forças para párar.&lt;br /&gt;Parece que algo não está muito certo aqui dentro. Senhor, acaba com isso em mim!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-221950650551717583?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/221950650551717583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/221950650551717583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/11/di-demais.html' title='dói demais.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-1404303327365924450</id><published>2008-11-02T19:57:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2008-11-02T19:59:09.375-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SQ4ikiyZ2uI/AAAAAAAAAFE/5iudVo5EhTY/s1600-h/scream.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264183025651538658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SQ4ikiyZ2uI/AAAAAAAAAFE/5iudVo5EhTY/s320/scream.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Grito por dentro, para que não ouçam o meu desespero.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-1404303327365924450?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/1404303327365924450'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/1404303327365924450'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/11/grito-por-dentro-para-que-no-ouam-o-meu.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SQ4ikiyZ2uI/AAAAAAAAAFE/5iudVo5EhTY/s72-c/scream.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5119114376700042973</id><published>2008-10-29T20:05:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2008-10-29T20:19:51.893-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SQjgUMNnsqI/AAAAAAAAAD8/dmkUPcdXMys/s1600-h/balloon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262702802062783138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SQjgUMNnsqI/AAAAAAAAAD8/dmkUPcdXMys/s320/balloon.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pra ele, é sempre tudo tão natural e normal. Como se já fizesse parte da rotina.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-5119114376700042973?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5119114376700042973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5119114376700042973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/10/pra-ele-sempre-tudo-to-natural-e-normal.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SQjgUMNnsqI/AAAAAAAAAD8/dmkUPcdXMys/s72-c/balloon.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5755286774299636013</id><published>2008-10-23T13:59:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2008-10-23T14:01:57.702-02:00</updated><title type='text'>outro fim.</title><content type='html'>"Como, se na desordem do armário embutido&lt;br /&gt;Meu paletó enlaça o teu vestido&lt;br /&gt;Eo meu sapato ainda pisa no teu."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-5755286774299636013?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5755286774299636013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5755286774299636013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/10/outro-fim.html' title='outro fim.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5806052823348432336</id><published>2008-10-21T21:34:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2008-10-21T21:49:52.869-02:00</updated><title type='text'>just a new way.</title><content type='html'>É tudo o que eu mais desejo agora.&lt;br /&gt;Creio que eu tenha me perdido em meio a tantas ilusões, brigas e farsas...&lt;br /&gt;Não, não penso em fugir dos meus problemas. Mas todo esse caminho mais parece-se com um labirinto que possuí sempre o mesmo desfeixo.&lt;br /&gt;Todos os sonhos de "vida nova" ficam por um triz, conseqüentemente, o caminho da suposta salvação se encontra na incerteza, que só será concreta em janeiro do próximo ano.&lt;br /&gt;Algumas vezes me pego pensando, o quão mais fácil seria se tivesse optado por dar valores para coisas de segundo plano.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-5806052823348432336?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5806052823348432336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5806052823348432336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/10/just-new-way.html' title='just a new way.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-4496715005414261757</id><published>2008-10-19T20:23:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2008-10-19T20:24:05.729-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Eu sei que o sonho era bom, porque ele sorria.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-4496715005414261757?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4496715005414261757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4496715005414261757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/10/eu-sei-que-o-sonho-era-bom-porque-ele.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-101781242327383446</id><published>2008-10-15T21:29:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T21:29:48.402-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>As gotas de arco-íris perderam o gosto, fugiram às essencias.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-101781242327383446?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/101781242327383446'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/101781242327383446'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/10/as-gotas-de-arco-ris-perderam-o-gosto.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-8017221465903166872</id><published>2008-10-15T21:21:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T21:25:44.408-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>pensei em mim, pensei em você...&lt;br /&gt;os sonhos tem feito parte da minha rotina.&lt;br /&gt;aquelas noites eternas em que não sabiamos quem era quem,&lt;br /&gt;as minhas pernas que se perdiam nas suas,&lt;br /&gt;hoje andam pelas ruas da mesma cidade, somente desejando estar longe.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-8017221465903166872?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8017221465903166872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8017221465903166872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/10/pensei-em-mim-pensei-em-voc.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-6282181376009872116</id><published>2008-10-12T19:28:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2008-10-12T19:33:18.479-03:00</updated><title type='text'>a minha criança eterna.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SPJ6M751Y0I/AAAAAAAAAD0/D796luce-5Q/s1600-h/bal%C3%A9.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256398077752075074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SPJ6M751Y0I/AAAAAAAAAD0/D796luce-5Q/s320/bal%C3%A9.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; "Não cabe tua alegria, não basta pro teu calor&lt;br /&gt;Viva a tua maneira, não perca a estribeira&lt;br /&gt;Saiba do teu valor&lt;br /&gt;E amanheça brilhando mais forte, que a estrela do norte&lt;br /&gt;Que a noite entregou!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-6282181376009872116?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6282181376009872116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6282181376009872116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/10/minha-criana-eterna.html' title='a minha criança eterna.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SPJ6M751Y0I/AAAAAAAAAD0/D796luce-5Q/s72-c/bal%C3%A9.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-465680634127268009</id><published>2008-10-08T23:32:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T23:39:35.744-03:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't care ;P</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1tt1DX3EI/AAAAAAAAADs/D7WImVNxR1U/s1600-h/m6.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Hey babe, a sua dor não me importa.&lt;br /&gt;Não dou a mínima para as suas memórias, para suas culpas, para suas saudades...&lt;br /&gt;Lá fora existe um mundo real, cujo pessoas estão enloquecendo, sendo presas, indo para o exílio, morrendo de overdose e você, fica aí pelos cantos choramingando o amor perdido. Foda-se esse "rei-ego" absoluto.&lt;br /&gt;Viva a sua vida sem depender da minha!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-465680634127268009?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/465680634127268009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/465680634127268009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-dont-care-p.html' title='I don&apos;t care ;P'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-1322191163145279338</id><published>2008-10-08T21:33:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T21:34:19.425-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"falta um pouco de luz nos seus olhos,&lt;br /&gt;e me dá saudades, ver o seu rosto brilhando ao sol..."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-1322191163145279338?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/1322191163145279338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/1322191163145279338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/10/falta-um-pouco-de-luz-nos-seus-olhos-e.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-934963026070460210</id><published>2008-10-02T18:35:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T19:26:58.784-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Foi difícil...</title><content type='html'>Existiam paredes brancas ali, mas ele nem percebia... Pois estava sempre com os seus óculos de lentes vermelhas, as quais influênciavam todo o meio, e por ventura suas atitudes.&lt;br /&gt;Um dia, cansado daquele tom avermelhado, parou para pensar e imaginou que deveria dar chance aos outros tons... ou talvez, mesmo sendo difícil, ele quis dar uma oportunidade a si, para ver as cores do mundo.&lt;br /&gt;Exercitando a tal da empatia, ele foi capaz de ver as paredes brancas e descobriu que nucna é tarde para mudanças.&lt;br /&gt;O perdão existe quando as diferenças são superadas, quando o amor e o carinho é mais forte que o orgulho e o egoísmo. Toda a raiva se reverte em angústia, que vai embora nas lágrimas e fecha as portas com um abraço e um "eu te amo, nunca se esqueça disso".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-934963026070460210?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/934963026070460210'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/934963026070460210'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/10/foi-difcil.html' title='Foi difícil...'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-9117012502811709729</id><published>2008-09-30T18:40:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-09-30T18:41:35.060-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"Mas Bruna, ele é o seu pai!&lt;br /&gt;Eu sei, mas eu queria que ele estivesse longe."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-9117012502811709729?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/9117012502811709729'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/9117012502811709729'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/09/mas-bruna-ele-o-seu-pai-eu-sei-mas-eu.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-8066136881804184177</id><published>2008-09-28T14:57:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-09-28T15:10:30.572-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Dizzy- Jimmy Eat World. (L)</title><content type='html'>You close your eyes and kiss your hand&lt;br /&gt;And you blow it.But it isn't meant for me&lt;br /&gt;,And i know this.&lt;br /&gt;If the choice was ours alone,&lt;br /&gt;Then why'd we both choose letting go?&lt;br /&gt;Does it end like this?&lt;br /&gt;Time never had a chance to heal your heart.&lt;br /&gt;Just a number always counting down to a new start.&lt;br /&gt;If you always knew the truth&lt;br /&gt;Then the world would spin around you&lt;br /&gt;Are you dizzy yet?&lt;br /&gt;Respectfully, some honesty I'm calling out&lt;br /&gt;Do you hear the conversation we talk about?&lt;br /&gt;Girl, back away to the safety of a quiet house&lt;br /&gt;If there's half a chance in this moment&lt;br /&gt;When your eyes meet mine, we show it.&lt;br /&gt;I'll talk i'm not allowed to think&lt;br /&gt;We were living dreams&lt;br /&gt;And shame never crept close to our naked feetIf there's something left to lose,&lt;br /&gt;Don't let me wear our my shoes.&lt;br /&gt;I'm still all here.I tried,&lt;br /&gt;But it rang and rangI called all night&lt;br /&gt;On a pay phone, remember those from another life?&lt;br /&gt;If everything i meant to you,&lt;br /&gt;You can lick and seal then fold in two&lt;br /&gt;Then i've been so blind.&lt;br /&gt;Respectfully, some honesty I'll ask you now&lt;br /&gt;Do you hear the conversation we talk about?&lt;br /&gt;Girl, back away to the safety of a quiet houseIf there's half a chance in this moment&lt;br /&gt;When your eyes meet mine, we show it.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, oh take it all back, take your first, your last, your only.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, oh take it all back, take it all back,&lt;br /&gt;Everything you showed me.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, oh, this must be how it feels when the feeling goes&lt;br /&gt;I told you as I hovered I'd never felt this way&lt;br /&gt;You said "I had the shot that stops my clock,&lt;br /&gt;Baby it's okay."You said you'd never have regrets Jesus!&lt;br /&gt;Is there someone yet who got that wish?&lt;br /&gt;Did you get yours? Babe?&lt;br /&gt;Respectfully, some honesty I'll ask you now&lt;br /&gt;Do you hear the conversation we talk about?&lt;br /&gt;Girl, back away to the safety of a quiet house&lt;br /&gt;If there's half a chance in this moment&lt;br /&gt;When your eyes meet mine, we show it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-8066136881804184177?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8066136881804184177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8066136881804184177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/09/dizzy-jimmy-eat-world-l.html' title='Dizzy- Jimmy Eat World. (L)'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-8297895197269477281</id><published>2008-09-24T21:10:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-09-24T21:13:49.614-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SNrXOdxI91I/AAAAAAAAADE/MRTIWyk7Mt0/s1600-h/circo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249744959162611538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SNrXOdxI91I/AAAAAAAAADE/MRTIWyk7Mt0/s320/circo.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Para algo que era um sentimento, fez dele razão.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Pra se perder no abismo que é pensar e sentir.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-8297895197269477281?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8297895197269477281'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8297895197269477281'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/09/para-algo-que-era-um-sentimento-fez.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SNrXOdxI91I/AAAAAAAAADE/MRTIWyk7Mt0/s72-c/circo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-7886255028624656131</id><published>2008-09-22T21:09:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T21:18:58.666-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Brincando de ser estranha, quase deixei o desejo falar mais alto.&lt;br /&gt;Brincando de ser e estar, seu gosto ainda está em mim, e o desejo permanece igual ao da noite passada.&lt;br /&gt;Você tem aquele "que", o qual perco a linha.&lt;br /&gt;Os sentidos e pensamentos vão a mil por hora de encontro as estrelas.&lt;br /&gt;Queria viver assim, todas as minhas noites de domingo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-7886255028624656131?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7886255028624656131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7886255028624656131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/09/brincando-de-ser-estranha-quase-deixei.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-1434219516484858705</id><published>2008-09-18T19:27:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T19:32:46.305-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Hoje, o meu corpo pede pela minha alma.</title><content type='html'>A confusão sempre fez parte da minha cabeça, sempre admiti isso, e não me envergonho por tal.&lt;br /&gt;Gosto de pensar, e demoro à tomar decisões por medo de ferir as pessoas ao meu redor...Mas hoje, não choro por amores perdidos, não choro por amigos distantes, choro por mim. Não num ato de egoísmo, ams pro precisar me encontrar e nao saber mais por onde procurar.&lt;br /&gt;Desespero.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-1434219516484858705?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/1434219516484858705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/1434219516484858705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/09/hoje-o-meu-corpo-pede-pela-minha-alma.html' title='Hoje, o meu corpo pede pela minha alma.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-380363104124094921</id><published>2008-09-07T16:56:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T16:57:17.466-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ele mentiu...&lt;br /&gt;me ganhou e no final partiu.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-380363104124094921?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/380363104124094921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/380363104124094921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/09/ele-mentiu.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5760166498464347980</id><published>2008-09-04T20:50:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-09-04T20:52:33.440-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SMB0cuVxh7I/AAAAAAAAAC8/d3g4zc4Nfwk/s1600-h/circo+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242318003083773874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SMB0cuVxh7I/AAAAAAAAAC8/d3g4zc4Nfwk/s320/circo+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Não parecia ser tão necessário, talvez precisa-se ser menos fantasioso, ou até mesmo mais...&lt;br /&gt;Foi a hora certa, para eternizar em molduras especiais.&lt;br /&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/6963715164232114203-5760166498464347980?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5760166498464347980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5760166498464347980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/09/no-parecia-ser-to-necessrio-talvez.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SMB0cuVxh7I/AAAAAAAAAC8/d3g4zc4Nfwk/s72-c/circo+2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-680246418100365664</id><published>2008-08-17T19:49:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2008-08-17T19:51:08.032-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"São só palavras, textos, ensaios e cenas&lt;br /&gt;A cada ato enceno a diferença&lt;br /&gt;Do que é amor ficou o seu retrato&lt;br /&gt;Da peça que interpreto, um improviso insensato&lt;br /&gt;Essa saudade eu sei de cor&lt;br /&gt;Sei o caminho dos barcos&lt;br /&gt;E há muito estou alheio e quem me entende&lt;br /&gt;Recebe o resto exato e tão pequeno" -Renato Russo (Os barcos).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-680246418100365664?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/680246418100365664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/680246418100365664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/08/so-s-palavras-textos-ensaios-e-cenas.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-6837394367301617712</id><published>2008-08-17T18:01:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-08-17T18:02:37.945-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The time never had a chance to heal my heart.&lt;br /&gt;That's the only true.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-6837394367301617712?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6837394367301617712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6837394367301617712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/08/time-never-had-chance-to-heal-my-heart.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-3610666695436335087</id><published>2008-08-10T18:02:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-08-10T18:05:36.515-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Drinking by drinking for two&lt;br /&gt;drinking with you, when drinking was new..&lt;br /&gt;when drinking was new!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-3610666695436335087?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3610666695436335087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3610666695436335087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/08/drinking-by-drinking-for-two-drinking.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-9204799153036243755</id><published>2008-08-02T21:01:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-08-02T21:03:49.214-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SJT1yyqNvlI/AAAAAAAAAC0/0wJSlW2o-fU/s1600-h/acrobata.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230075320225087058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SJT1yyqNvlI/AAAAAAAAAC0/0wJSlW2o-fU/s320/acrobata.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;e dessa vez, se for sair, por favor deixe as chaves da porta.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-9204799153036243755?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/9204799153036243755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/9204799153036243755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/08/e-dessa-vez-se-for-sair-por-favor-deixe.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SJT1yyqNvlI/AAAAAAAAAC0/0wJSlW2o-fU/s72-c/acrobata.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-3227013871571036087</id><published>2008-07-17T00:28:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-17T00:31:14.140-03:00</updated><title type='text'>O casamento de Romeo e Julieta.</title><content type='html'>Assim que o amor entrou no meio o meio virou amor&lt;br /&gt;O fogo se derreteu o gelo se incendiou, e a brisa que era um tufão, depois que o mar derramou, depois que a casa caiu o vento da paz soprou&lt;br /&gt;Clareou, refletiu, se cansou do ódio e viu que o sonho é real e qualquer vitória é carnaval, carnaval, carnaval.&lt;br /&gt;Muito além da razão bate forte emoção, ilusão que o céu criou onde apenas o meu coração amará, amará.&lt;br /&gt;O amor não se tem na hora que se quer, ele vem no olhar. sabe ser o melhor na vida e pede bis quando faz alguém feliz.&lt;br /&gt;Vem aqui vem viver não precisa escolher os jardins do nosso lar preparando a festa pra sonhar, pra sonhar, pra sonhar.&lt;br /&gt;Faça chuva, vem o sol em comum o futebol deu você e o nosso amor convidando as mágoas pra cantar, pra cantar, pra cantar.&lt;br /&gt;O amor não se tem na hora que se quer, ele vem no olhar. sabe ser o melhor na vida e pede bis quando faz alguém feliz.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-3227013871571036087?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3227013871571036087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3227013871571036087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/07/o-casamento-de-romeo-e-julieta.html' title='O casamento de Romeo e Julieta.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5152213144488303222</id><published>2008-07-08T21:21:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T21:28:41.696-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Doença emocional.</title><content type='html'>Foi assim que ela descobriu que sofria de um mal que nem mesmo os médico conseguiam identificar.&lt;br /&gt;Foi passando por apuros sozinha, sem ter os devidos "melhores amigos" para socorrer. Via na mãe o porto seguro, já que o pai era sempre ausente... Mas até quando ficaria preocupando uma mulher que convenhamos, logo não estará mais com ela.&lt;br /&gt;A cada aperto novo no peito, cada decepção era seguida de um forte enjôuo, tonturas e sensações ruins. Sentia que ia desmaiar a qualquer sopro mais forte de vento, tinha que se mostrar sempre mais forte do que era em cada momento.&lt;br /&gt;Buscou a cura em remédio, em outros ares e em tipos diferentes de vibrações sonoras... até agora, ela garante, que nada deu certo. Vê as esperanças escorrendo com o tempo, como as lágrimas sentidas que caem pelo rosto, já com a expressão de que tudo não vai muito bem.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-5152213144488303222?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5152213144488303222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5152213144488303222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/07/doena-emocional.html' title='Doença emocional.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-4398245365996653823</id><published>2008-07-01T15:16:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-01T15:21:09.953-03:00</updated><title type='text'>a flechada no peito.</title><content type='html'>serei sutíl ao demonstrar os meus sinais de desafeto, de desapego.&lt;br /&gt;com os olhos cheios de lágrimas, e o rosto recém secado, mudarei meu planos, e seguirei sorrindo para outras pessoas,&lt;br /&gt;quanto cruzar com você pelas ruas, ou bares, farei questão de ir para rua de lado oposto, ou de mudar de lugar.&lt;br /&gt;manterei-me durante um tempo, atrás de portas, não com o intuíto de me esconder ou algo de gerno, mas para criar forças para ser mais forte.&lt;br /&gt;talvez dessa vez, eu decida vestir a aramudara de vez, pra nunca mais tirar.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-4398245365996653823?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4398245365996653823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4398245365996653823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/07/flechada-no-peito.html' title='a flechada no peito.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-7876305406652076830</id><published>2008-06-23T20:39:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-23T20:40:36.663-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Pegue chá para dois&lt;br /&gt;Uma tarde&lt;br /&gt;Pelo mar&lt;br /&gt;Lembra-se de como costumava ser&lt;br /&gt;Quando eramos jovens e não ligavamos&lt;br /&gt;E as pessoas costumavam sorrir&lt;br /&gt;Nós seguravamos as mãos no parque&lt;br /&gt;As coisas simples que homem e mulher dividem,&lt;br /&gt;Elas te fazem sorrir.&lt;br /&gt;Pequena garota não seja sozinha,&lt;br /&gt;Nunca vai estar sozinha...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-7876305406652076830?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7876305406652076830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7876305406652076830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/06/pegue-ch-para-dois-uma-tarde-pelo-mar.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-4726104571230054455</id><published>2008-06-23T20:33:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-23T20:37:44.295-03:00</updated><title type='text'>um fim, talvez, certeiro.</title><content type='html'>Ele quebrou seu coração hoje?&lt;br /&gt;Bem, alguns iram dizer&lt;br /&gt;Nunca vai ser fácil&lt;br /&gt;E ele disse aquilo porque te ama, ele só não esta mais apaixonado por você?&lt;br /&gt;Eu conheçi um homem que viu um fantasma&lt;br /&gt;Sentou em sua cama e disse:"Hey, Não precisa se preocupar, eu vivi minha vida do começo ao fim. E tenho visto nada que fez sentido, exceto a existência do amor."&lt;br /&gt;Pegue chá para dois&lt;br /&gt;Uma tarde&lt;br /&gt;Pelo mar&lt;br /&gt;Lembra-se de como costumava ser&lt;br /&gt;Quando eramos jovens e não ligavamos&lt;br /&gt;E as pessoas costumavam sorrir&lt;br /&gt;Nós seguravamos as mãos no parque&lt;br /&gt;As coisas simples que homem e mulher dividem, elas te fazem sorrir.&lt;br /&gt;Pequena garota não seja sozinha,&lt;br /&gt;Nunca vai estar sozinha.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-4726104571230054455?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4726104571230054455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/4726104571230054455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/06/um-fim-talvez-certeiro.html' title='um fim, talvez, certeiro.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5043626048267944466</id><published>2008-06-15T17:56:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-15T17:58:33.453-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sinceramente?&lt;br /&gt;Eu gostaria de acreditar em cada palavra que você me disse ontem.&lt;br /&gt;Oh my fucking God, how I want to belive in you!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-5043626048267944466?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5043626048267944466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5043626048267944466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/06/sinceramente-eu-gostaria-de-acreditar.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-6084880555378810259</id><published>2008-06-12T20:14:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-12T20:23:39.517-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Falando sobre o amor...</title><content type='html'>do Latim amore&lt;br /&gt;s. m.,&lt;br /&gt;viva afeição que nos impele para o objecto dos nossos desejos;&lt;br /&gt;inclinação da alma e do coração;&lt;br /&gt;objecto da nossa afeição;&lt;br /&gt;paixão;&lt;br /&gt;afecto;&lt;br /&gt;inclinação exclusiva;&lt;br /&gt;ant.,&lt;br /&gt;graça, mercê.&lt;br /&gt;com -: com muito gosto, com zelo;&lt;br /&gt;fazer -: ter relações sexuais;&lt;br /&gt;loc. prep.,&lt;br /&gt;por - de: por causa de;&lt;br /&gt;por - de Deus: por caridade;&lt;br /&gt;ter - à pele: ser prudente, não arriscar a vida;&lt;br /&gt;- captativo:vd. amor possessivo;&lt;br /&gt;- conjugal: amor pelo qual as pessoas se unem pelas leis do matrimónio;&lt;br /&gt;- oblativo: amor dedicado a outrem;&lt;br /&gt;- platónico: intensa afeição que não inclui sentimentos carnais;&lt;br /&gt;- possessivo: amor que leva a subjugar e monopolizar a pessoa que se ama; o m. q. amor captativo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Felizardo posso garantir daqueles que o sentem e são correspondidos, em relação ao ser amado. Porque afinal, todos amamos e somos amados por pessoas diferentes e maneiras destintas... seja amor de pai e mãe, de amigos, de bicho de estimação =)&lt;br /&gt;Pensando nessas coisas, e em outras relacionando a data de hoje com o nosso sitema querido, o capetalismo, seria então o Dia dos Namorados mais um golpe de marketing?! Okay, pensamento de gente alienada, mas faz sentido... nomear um dia para comemorar algo que não precisaria de datas especiais para ser comemorado, só com a finalidade de arrecadar lucros.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-6084880555378810259?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6084880555378810259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6084880555378810259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/06/falando-sobre-o-amor.html' title='Falando sobre o amor...'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-6382197498134384330</id><published>2008-06-08T21:31:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-08T21:32:10.175-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Tão pouco, tão longe...&lt;br /&gt;Você não deveria ter dito metade das coisas que falou.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-6382197498134384330?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6382197498134384330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6382197498134384330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/06/to-pouco-to-longe.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-3018429612736981918</id><published>2008-06-03T19:54:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-03T20:27:33.752-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Para ela, falar de sentimentos é inventar fatos descritos em letras de música.&lt;br /&gt;É enfeitar as casualidades e colorir os mínimos detalhes.&lt;br /&gt;Pra ela é fácil, já que todos os sentimentos dela são enventados.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-3018429612736981918?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3018429612736981918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3018429612736981918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/06/para-ela-falar-de-sentimentos-inventar.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-572687340166844688</id><published>2008-05-29T20:22:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-29T20:38:57.183-03:00</updated><title type='text'>A parte pelo todo.</title><content type='html'>E quando penso em mim, acabo por perder meus pensamentos em você.&lt;br /&gt;Não que isso seja ruim, mas confesso, que me causa um desconforto... uma agonia talvez.&lt;br /&gt;Tal agonia não sei dizer se é no bom ou no mau sentido.&lt;br /&gt;Afinal a nossa situação poderia ser resumida a uma presente ausencia de ambas as partes, que quando finalmente se encontram deixam o pecado carnal falar mais alto.&lt;br /&gt;Confesso, em muitos aspectos a situação me agrada. Mas hoje, tomando chá de morango e comendo pão de queijo naquela casinha charmosa de chás e cafés, me dei conta de que toda a nossa "vida juntos" não teve nenhuma cena de filme, ou trilha sonora.&lt;br /&gt;Queria ter coragem de colocar um fim nisso, entende... para mim já não faz mais sentido!&lt;br /&gt;Preciso dar um rumo diferente a minha vida, e de certa forma, acho que você está atrapalhando.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-572687340166844688?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/572687340166844688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/572687340166844688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/05/parte-pelo-todo.html' title='A parte pelo todo.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-7574120938269711658</id><published>2008-05-28T20:02:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-28T20:05:12.553-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Era um show de horrores saindo direto daquela caixa fria, que toda família adotou como membro principal da casa, que anestesiava a mente e nos alienava.&lt;br /&gt;O que te prende a ela?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-7574120938269711658?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7574120938269711658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7574120938269711658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/05/era-um-show-de-horrores-saindo-direto.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-2780218047296132769</id><published>2008-05-22T20:16:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-22T20:21:55.220-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ela tem sempre essa impressão de que os homens irão abandoná-la.&lt;br /&gt;Por isso não cria laço algum. aperfeiçoou durante os anos a manufatura do esquecimento: papeis embebidos em vodka e queimados no jardim.&lt;br /&gt;Em seu quarto tudo está na medida certa. Não há quem saia, não há quem entre.&lt;br /&gt;Só é dado ao par o que anatomicamente deve ser. Do resto, contenta-se com o que é singular.&lt;br /&gt;Se houve quem a amasse para uma vida a dois, sim. Mas ela não sabe e prefere não saber. não conhece a solidão como o sol que não conhece as sombras.&lt;br /&gt;Não, meu nome nunca foi queimado mas sou como cinzas dele.&lt;br /&gt;Ele me chama, saímos, vai até minha casa e vai embora depois de lhe preparar café.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-2780218047296132769?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2780218047296132769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2780218047296132769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/05/ela-tem-sempre-essa-impresso-de-que-os.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5249731371259245145</id><published>2008-05-19T19:14:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-19T19:25:07.993-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Necessidades especiais.</title><content type='html'>Apenas dezenove, e um sonho idiota!&lt;br /&gt;E eu achava que você poderia ter algum sabor.&lt;br /&gt;Justamente dezenove, e um sonho obeceno.&lt;br /&gt;A minha dívida foi paga com seis meses fora, por mau comportamento.&lt;br /&gt;Você vai se lembrar de mim quando compor o seu primeiro script de secesso?&lt;br /&gt;Vai se lembrar de mim quando ficar ofuscado com os flashes das fotografias e os gritos?&lt;br /&gt;Pense em mim qaundo estiver preso a uma mente sem novas idéias.&lt;br /&gt;Lembre-se de mim... sonhos na tela prateada.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-5249731371259245145?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5249731371259245145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5249731371259245145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/05/necessidades-especiais.html' title='Necessidades especiais.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-7466845761902641322</id><published>2008-05-18T00:13:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-18T00:18:25.497-03:00</updated><title type='text'>meia vida.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SC-fzR8EHxI/AAAAAAAAACg/yK9GbQWJ3_E/s1600-h/acrobata.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201551797973688082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="241" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SC-fzR8EHxI/AAAAAAAAACg/yK9GbQWJ3_E/s320/acrobata.jpg" width="144" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Acordou antes das seis, ligou a televisão sem som&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Para não sentir, para não ouvir&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Quis um novo dia, quis ir à praia talvez&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ela abriu a janela pra ver o sol sair no céu&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;No rádio ainda tocava aquela velha canção&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fechou os olhos e do décimo andar ao chão&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Se perdeu uma vida.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&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/6963715164232114203-7466845761902641322?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7466845761902641322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7466845761902641322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/05/meia-vida.html' title='meia vida.'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SC-fzR8EHxI/AAAAAAAAACg/yK9GbQWJ3_E/s72-c/acrobata.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-3877257371985316291</id><published>2008-05-12T21:07:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-12T21:10:45.188-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ainda vou descobrir o que há por trás daquele sorriso, que vi subir às escadas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-3877257371985316291?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3877257371985316291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3877257371985316291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/05/ainda-vou-descobrir-o-que-h-por-trs.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-8717846374541147149</id><published>2008-05-05T21:03:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-05T21:04:21.946-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"A little far for me to reach&lt;br /&gt;Maybe something else I'm missing&lt;br /&gt;Something good and you're the reason&lt;br /&gt;It's a dream but there's a real world waiting"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-8717846374541147149?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8717846374541147149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/8717846374541147149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/05/little-far-for-me-to-reach-maybe.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-5743805350833688763</id><published>2008-05-03T18:25:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-03T18:29:05.556-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SBzY5_MmtQI/AAAAAAAAACY/NItAkllN7hI/s1600-h/lidinhas.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196266560807154946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SBzY5_MmtQI/AAAAAAAAACY/NItAkllN7hI/s320/lidinhas.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; a new hope for us!&lt;br /&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/6963715164232114203-5743805350833688763?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5743805350833688763'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/5743805350833688763'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/05/new-hope-for-us.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SBzY5_MmtQI/AAAAAAAAACY/NItAkllN7hI/s72-c/lidinhas.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-7476412201706708288</id><published>2008-05-02T21:20:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-02T21:27:00.509-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Pink Floyd</title><content type='html'>"So, so you think you can tell&lt;br /&gt;Heaven from hell&lt;br /&gt;Blue skies from pai&lt;br /&gt;Can you tell a green field&lt;br /&gt;From a cold steel rai?&lt;br /&gt;A smile from a veil?&lt;br /&gt;Dou you think you can tell?&lt;br /&gt;And did they get you trade&lt;br /&gt;Your heroes for ghosts?&lt;br /&gt;And hot air for a cool breeze?&lt;br /&gt;Cold comform for change?&lt;br /&gt;And did you exchange&lt;br /&gt;A walk on part in the war&lt;br /&gt;For a lead role in a cage?&lt;br /&gt;How I wish&lt;br /&gt;How I wish you were here&lt;br /&gt;We're just two lost souls&lt;br /&gt;Swimmin'in a fish bowl&lt;br /&gt;Year after year&lt;br /&gt;Running over the same old ground&lt;br /&gt;The same old fears&lt;br /&gt;Wish you were here...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-7476412201706708288?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7476412201706708288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/7476412201706708288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/05/pink-floyd.html' title='Pink Floyd'/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-3165237458107068079</id><published>2008-04-29T20:26:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2008-04-29T20:28:56.702-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Lendo a carta, lembrei-me das palavras doces que dizia, das músiquinhas que cantava- aquela da corujinha- lembrei-me de quando penteava o meu cabelo tirando os "nós", com a maior delicadeza do mundo, para eu não gritar: "Aii mãnhê, tá doendo!".&lt;br /&gt;Eu tenho tanto medo de te perder...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-3165237458107068079?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3165237458107068079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3165237458107068079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/04/lendo-carta-lembrei-me-das-palavras.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-6055927178149724911</id><published>2008-04-27T19:24:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-04-27T19:26:14.690-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SBT9Y_MmtPI/AAAAAAAAACQ/6rgHW4uemdQ/s1600-h/carrocel.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194054875988014322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SBT9Y_MmtPI/AAAAAAAAACQ/6rgHW4uemdQ/s320/carrocel.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;once upon time...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-6055927178149724911?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6055927178149724911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/6055927178149724911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/04/once-upon-time.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SBT9Y_MmtPI/AAAAAAAAACQ/6rgHW4uemdQ/s72-c/carrocel.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-1315945106222265400</id><published>2008-04-26T15:12:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-04-26T16:16:18.123-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>E eu quase me deixei levar,&lt;br /&gt;quase cai na armadilha que montei pra você.&lt;br /&gt;Ou é burro, ou é cego...&lt;br /&gt;Na verdade, acho que você entende, mas se faz de idiota!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-1315945106222265400?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/1315945106222265400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/1315945106222265400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/04/e-eu-quase-me-deixei-levar-quase-cai-na.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-2244393915696660150</id><published>2008-04-19T15:54:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-04-19T15:59:32.103-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Perder o meu tempo por estas esquinas e outras.&lt;br /&gt;Passar pela praia e ver o mar revirado,&lt;br /&gt;assistir o nascer do sol ao contrário.&lt;br /&gt;Olhar para o céu e notar as estrelas de dia.&lt;br /&gt;Pisar somente nas faixas brancas dos cruzamentos.&lt;br /&gt;Achar vida em pequenos cantos,&lt;br /&gt;ouvir os gritos da rua, que compõem a melodia boêmia.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-2244393915696660150?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2244393915696660150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/2244393915696660150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/04/perder-o-meu-tempo-por-estas-esquinas-e.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963715164232114203.post-3732680386064417443</id><published>2008-04-17T21:01:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-04-17T21:02:41.706-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a class="hotLink" href="http://www.orkut.com/UniversalSearch.aspx?q=%22%22A+little+drop+of+water%22"&gt;"A little drop of water&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a class="hotLink" href="http://www.orkut.com/UniversalSearch.aspx?q=%22Is+falling+from+the+sky%22"&gt;Is falling from the sky&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a class="hotLink" href="http://www.orkut.com/UniversalSearch.aspx?q=%22As+it+reaches+the+ground%22"&gt;As it reaches the ground&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a class="hotLink" href="http://www.orkut.com/UniversalSearch.aspx?q=%22In+slow+motion%22%22"&gt;In slow motion"&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963715164232114203-3732680386064417443?l=proacasolevar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3732680386064417443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963715164232114203/posts/default/3732680386064417443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://proacasolevar.blogspot.com/2008/04/little-drop-of-water-is-falling-from.html' title=''/><author><name>Bruna Mozardo.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04265446095459074223</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0NVw3d_e60E/SO1qAUpuRmI/AAAAAAAAADU/dKeuyD6wrtw/S220/brubs+080.jpg'/></author></entry></feed>
