<?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-7597772782062076323</id><updated>2011-11-02T14:13:58.169+02:00</updated><category term='neatsa bah'/><category term=':)'/><title type='text'>Praf de stele..</title><subtitle type='html'>Primul inceput.

..nici un vis pierdut.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>20</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-4533385678394876492</id><published>2009-05-01T17:01:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T17:01:26.185+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey there</title><content type='html'>Si bine v'am gasit la ora blestemelor de dupamiaza.  Vom face impreuna o lista de blesteme ca toate lucrurile spurcate de pe lume sa tuseasca pana isi vomita dracii. Sau plamanii. Sau amandoua. Sau pana incep si eu sa scriu macar 10 cuvinte legate care sa aiba sens. Acestea sunt zece cuvinte legate care au mult sens. 9 cuvinte. Dammit. /end introduction&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;         Hai sa blestemam atestatul. Nu ca nu iese, ci ca nu putem fi atenti la el. Hai sa blestemam sc-ul. Nu ca prind doar koreeni, ci ca nu pot fi atent. Hai sa nu blestemam nimic. Ora de blesteme s'a incheiat, acum stingeti televizorul si plecati la casele voastre.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;         De ce raman tot timpul oameni care nu ma asculta? Care nu sting televizorul si stau sa asculte..ce? Gandurile mele egoiste. Nu mai mint pe nimeni ca scriu ca sa discut idei, sau sa impartasesc pareri, sau sa culturalizez o planeta. Scriu ca sa am unde sa'mi vars cuvintele, fericirea si amarul. Azi ce'mi vars?  Nu stiu sa descriu starea de fata. O combinatie foarte neinspirata intre frustrare, rana si nervi. Ea e acasa. Ea nu sta pe net, ca nu vrea sa vorbeasca cu nimeni. Si cand sta pe net, trebuie sa vorbeasca cu prietenii ei. Carora le sunt dedicate ultimele articole. Frumoase, fericire. Ei au adus'o pe ea inapoi la fericire. Ei au dus'o inapoi la tristele. Si in nici una din acele doua faze nu m'am regasit cat ar fi trebuit. Intr-una, nu ma regaseam pentru ca nu puteam sa'i ofer ce ii puteau oferi Kiddu Kami, sau Sirius, dragul ei drag, sau Doru si Cristina. In a doua, nu ma regaseam, pentru ca suferea din cauza ca i'a pierdut pe ei. De la distanta nu'i pot oferi umarul sa planga, n'o pot lua in brate, asa ca, totusi, la ora blestemelor, blestemam distanta. Normal, mi'ar fi placut sa poata sa'mi spuna mie prin ce trece, sa isi verse nervii la mine in fereastra. Desi tine la el. Dupa toate ce i'a facut, ea tine. Si de'asta, e treaba ei si a lui. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;          Nu e treaba mea. Pentru prima data dupa multa, foarte multa vreme, ceva legat de ea nu e treaba mea. Cum e? &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;         Prima idee ar fi sa scriu incorect. Indiferent ce am facut vreodata eu, a fost treaba ei. Dar suntem doua firi diferite, cum zice si ea. Poate ea are nevoie ca o parte din viata ei sa fie doar a ei. Chiar daca ar trebui sa inteleaga ca asta nu se poate tot timpul. Si n'o sa ma las atras in asta. Daca odata am fost tot ce avea nevoie, pot fi in continuare...daca mi s'ar da o sansa.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;         Poate pur si simplu nu suntem potriviti. Daca eu vreau sa'i dau totul, si accept mai putin in schimb. Daca poate sa se ataseze atat de usor de el, si sa sufere atat de mult cand o lasa. Cand increderea ii este inselata de prieteni, plange. Dar plange singura.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;       Nu mai pot scrie in continuare. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;         Nu ma simt nicicum. Deci ma simt cumva. Pur si simplu, inutil.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;       Nu pot face nimic s'o fac mai bine. Pot s'o fac mai rau, si asta nu ma ajuta cu nimic. Nici pe ea.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        Sunt inutil.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-4533385678394876492?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/4533385678394876492/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=4533385678394876492' title='3 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/4533385678394876492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/4533385678394876492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2009/05/hey-there.html' title='Hey there'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-8570798438108681396</id><published>2009-01-21T20:05:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2009-01-21T20:06:40.614+02:00</updated><title type='text'>21 ianuarie.</title><content type='html'>Stiu ca nu mai inseamna multe data asta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            Vreau doar sa existe undeva, oriunde, dovada ca ma gandeam, in ziua de 21, la alta zi de 21, din primavara anului trecut..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-8570798438108681396?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/8570798438108681396/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=8570798438108681396' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/8570798438108681396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/8570798438108681396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2009/01/21-ianuarie.html' title='21 ianuarie.'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-3405486260489006671</id><published>2008-10-21T19:58:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2008-10-21T19:59:09.666+03:00</updated><title type='text'>21 octombrie.</title><content type='html'>Septembrie a trecut fara urme. Eram acolo.&lt;br /&gt;  Lunile trec, incet, dar sigur, repede, dar fericit. :) La multi ani, inca o data!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-3405486260489006671?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/3405486260489006671/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=3405486260489006671' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/3405486260489006671'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/3405486260489006671'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/10/21-octombrie.html' title='21 octombrie.'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-6570366229565597888</id><published>2008-10-09T21:11:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2008-10-09T21:11:42.241+03:00</updated><title type='text'>:)</title><content type='html'>Oamenii pleaca, vorbele raman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Te iubesc.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-6570366229565597888?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/6570366229565597888/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=6570366229565597888' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/6570366229565597888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/6570366229565597888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/10/blog-post.html' title=':)'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-3410832009290600912</id><published>2008-08-21T23:55:00.005+03:00</published><updated>2008-08-22T00:02:51.333+03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term=':)'/><title type='text'>La multsi ani,Sunshine..</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ecw-mnS03BI/SK3X6-v3UcI/AAAAAAAAAAw/B0G_od6YcTo/s1600-h/IMG_5383.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ecw-mnS03BI/SK3X6-v3UcI/AAAAAAAAAAw/B0G_od6YcTo/s320/IMG_5383.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237079349977895362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Inca o zi pe care m`ai lasat sa cred ca e pierduta.:)&lt;br /&gt;O sa faci asta mereu?&lt;br /&gt;E un joc ptr tine?...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Credeam ca...dar ce conteaza ce credeam, nu?&lt;br /&gt;Acum  vom adormi in acelasi pat.Acuzele din ochii mei iti sunt de ajuns.&lt;br /&gt;Noapte buna, 21 august.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Roxa te astepta in zadar!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-3410832009290600912?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/3410832009290600912/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=3410832009290600912' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/3410832009290600912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/3410832009290600912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/08/la-multsi-anisunshine.html' title='La multsi ani,Sunshine..'/><author><name>GunshotBride</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10729251105693170120</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ecw-mnS03BI/SK3X6-v3UcI/AAAAAAAAAAw/B0G_od6YcTo/s72-c/IMG_5383.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-8925978971823573089</id><published>2008-07-21T23:16:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-07-21T23:37:01.365+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Trecerea.</title><content type='html'>Momentul perfect in care iti dai seama de viitor e .. perfect. E un moment cand sti, cu puterea ta interioara, ca locul tau e in bratele unei persoane. Acum 4 luni am descoperit viata mea, in bratele ei. Pana atunci am fost mort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;             4 luni..nu inseamna mult. O treime de an. 120 si ceva de zile. Multe ore, minute, secunde, dar cate clipe! Cine a stat sa le numere? Atatea clipe pe care unii oameni si le aduc aminte toata viata, si pe care si eu o sa mi le aduc aminte, dar sunt atat de multe. Mi'a indeplinit atatea vise, nici n'o sa'si dea seama vreodata.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;             Am facut greseli. Multe. Si inca mai fac. Ziua de 21 trebuia sa fie perfecta. N'am reusit nici pe departe s'o fac asa. Si'a pierdut poate cea mai buna prietena pe care o avea, si n'am fost langa ea. Ar fi vrut s'ai zic din primul moment al zilei c'o iubesc, si am amanat pana in ultimul. De frica.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;             Da, de frica. De frica faptului ca s'ar putea sa nu...sa nu fie fericita. Pierderea ei a insemnat mult. Imi deschid, aici, sufletul. Pentru ultima oara. Trebuia, da, trebuia s'o fac de la inceput. De cand a inceput ziua. Trebuia sa incerc sa'i fiu alaturi, dar n'am putut. Nici acum nu cred ca pot. Mi'e frica de ziua de 21 a fiecarei luni. Mi'e o frica teribila, si mi'e frica sa si recunosc. Ea stie de ce. E in arhiva blogului de ce. Mi'a fost prea frica de ziua asta. Asa ca, la mai putin de 30 de minute ramase din ea, scriu aici ce mai pot scrie. Cu lacrimi in ochi, iti zic, tie, ca n'ar fi trebuit sa'mi fie frica. Ca n'am avut motiv, dar m'am panicat ca un nebun. Am fugit toata ziua, am visat, am fost..pe alta lume. Doar gandindu'ma...la ce m'as face daca 4 luni ar fi sfarsitul. Am crezut ca la 3 luni a fost sfarsitul. M'am inselat atunci, dar acum..?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;           Doare. Am dezamagit. 4 luni sunt 4 luni. Nu's nici pe departe cat vreau eu sa fie. As vrea sa fie 40 de ani. 40 de ani cu ea, cel putin. Merita pe cineva care sa fie langa ea, alaturi de ea, urmatorii 400 de ani. Cu 4 milioane de atingeri. Totul a pornit de la 4 ore de aur, si acum avem 4 luni minunate. 2 suflete cu 2 copii fac 4 chestii. Lucruri. Ingeri. Pentru 4 luni. 4 cadouri. 4 vise de moment pentru mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;           De 4 ori ii voi zice ca o iubesc. Ultimele lucruri care le fac pe ziua de azi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;           Ar fi meritat mult mai mult. Mi'a fost frica. Ar fi avut nevoie. Am dezamagit. Daca dupa ziua de azi ma trimite la dracu', acolo mi'e locul. N'am fost alaturi de ea. Dar mi'a fost groaznic de frica. Mi'am adus aminte de 400 de ori in cursul zilei de ce s'a intamplat acum o luna. Partea care s'a rupt atunci in mine m'a facut sa ma port ca un idiot. Partea aia a fost distrusa. A curs din mine, nu mai exista. A curs prin lacrimi, sange, suflet si inima. E afara din mine. Din cauza ca mi'am dat seama, dupa ce au trecut multe ore din zi, de un lucru, care nici nu'l pot scrie aici.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            Nu mai am o parte distrusa din inima. Nu mai am nici inima. Totul e la ea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            Probabil, cand citesti asta, daca o citesti..eu..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            Nu stiu ce sa zic. Respir pe undeva, sper s'o fac. M'a durut azi. Ma doare si acum. Plang, imi rup inima si sufletul. E o zi neagra din viata mea, pentru ca am dezamagit'o, pe ea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            Te iubesc, Roxa. Si'mi pare rau. Ne doresc multe luni impreuna. Am vrut...sa'ti zic in ultimul moment ca n'am uitat. Ca sa terminam ziua perfect..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;           Am..gresit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;           Poate fatal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;           E ultimul lucru care va aparea pe blog. Creatiile, vor aparea in alte locuri. E istorie..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;           Iarta'ma...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;           La..cat mai multe luni impreuna. Ani si vieti. Te iubesc, si te'am iubit de mai mult de 4 luni incoace. Din 5 februarie. De cand am vorbit prima data pe net. De cand m'am nascut si pana mor. De la 17 ani pana la infinit.&lt;br /&gt;            De acum pana mor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;           &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            Sufletul meu pereche.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;           Te iubesc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;           ....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-8925978971823573089?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/8925978971823573089/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=8925978971823573089' title='2 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/8925978971823573089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/8925978971823573089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/07/trecerea.html' title='Trecerea.'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-4292868029500580657</id><published>2008-07-14T23:07:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-07-14T23:14:07.703+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Fat-Frumos</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;"Ai fi putut macar sa`mi spui cum ai facut s`o iubesti doar pe ea, Fat-Frumos?Pentru ca eu stiu ca ea te`a ajutat mult.Cum ai reusit sa iubesti o singura fata ?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vrei sa'ti spun? Iti spun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Problema cea mare e ca ai taiat versurile exact de unde conta mai mult.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"pentru ca stiu ca ea te'a ajutat mult.".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ea m'a ajutat mult. Ea mi'a facut sa'mi dau seama ca langa ea mi'e fericirea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exista un sentiment pe lume pentru care inca n'am gasit nume. Multi oameni traiesc, putini iubesc. Si mai putini iubesc sincer. Dar exista o categorie de oameni care au cunoscut sentimentul vietii. Acel sentiment care apare atunci cand privesti in ochii omului pe care il iubesti, si sti ca langa el vrei sa'ti petreci restul vietii.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stii, atunci, ca vor veni ani. Ani de scoala, liceu, facultate, slujba, casnicie, copii, batranete, orice fel de ani care ii veti petrece impreuna, fara a va plictisi vreodata. Si cand dati impresia ca va plictisiti, gandul e tot unul la celalalt.Si cand nu zic nimic, se tin de mana. Si cand nu fac nimic deosebit, se gandesc. Cand termina sa se gandeasca, se joaca de'a "Care cedeaza primul?". Si atunci, cel care a simtit sentimentul vietii cedeaza. Si spune: "Stii, te iubesc".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sentimentul care'ti da aripi e siguranta ca alaturi de el/ea, vei trai o viata fericita. Asa ramai copil toata viata. Fiind sigur ca poti oricand sa visezi, ca poti trai cum vrei tu, iesi in miezul noptii pe strada sa canti. Si nu iesind din cauza ca "e fain". Iesind fara sa'ti dai seama de ce.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fata care poate sa'ti dea..sa'mi dea..acest sentiment merita orice. Ea m'a ajutat sa ii invat pe ceilalti cum se face sa iubesti o singura fata. Daca ma intreaba, o sa le spun. Intr'o zi, o sa plec cu ea sa fiu fericit. Si atunci ma vor ura ca nu i'am invatat toate secretele.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dar n'au intrebat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E simplu sa iubesti o singura fata. Cand fata e ea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                                                                           ~Fat-Frumos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-4292868029500580657?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/4292868029500580657/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=4292868029500580657' title='12 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/4292868029500580657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/4292868029500580657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/07/fat-frumos.html' title='Fat-Frumos'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-8390153241745216026</id><published>2008-07-02T02:12:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2008-07-02T10:38:23.422+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Scrisoare</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Adu’ti aminte…&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;                    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;De’un vis. De pe blocuri&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chei si brelocuri. Haine si tocuri. Iarba in smocuri, pustiul in fata&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Obiecte din casa, purtate de noi. Frumoasele clipe create de doi.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amintirea perfecta a clipei eterne. O poza perfecta. Cu doi.doi copii&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ce nu stiau atunci ce’nseama “o zi”. Ei stiu doar “o viata”&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Noi doi. Si o viata”. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Un joc de copii. Faci, sau nu faci? Nu’s doar prostii.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jocul dureaza o viata, chiar doua. Create de ei.Din flacari de roua&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si picuri de fum. Albastrul de frunze si verde de cer.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vise si clipe. Si’o viata de jocuri.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;                            &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Cei doi copii. Fata roscata. C’un zambet de joaca&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si ochii caprui. Cele doua se joaca cu inima lui.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cu chipul spre soare si ochii in zare&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baiatul raspunde.Trezit din visare&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Revine pe lume. Uimit, isi da seama&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ca fata roscata i’a frant toata teama.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ca’i omul pe care’l crease, candva, copil fiind&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si’atunci, ceva crapa. La fata,albind&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fata ii spune: “Al meu, Fat-Frumos&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De’aici ai sa zaci, un secol, o viata&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Voi sta langa tine, si’n palme’ti voi pune&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Un strop de iubire. O lacrima fina&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sa’ti faca, din moarte&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O viata senina”.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;                &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;In vise, baiatul, plutind prin morminte&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;         &lt;br /&gt;Isi vede sfarsitul, graind, in cuvinte&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Te’as lua, chiar acum, sa’i pun capat visului&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De n’ar fi o fata. Din varful abisului&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imi striga, din suflet, ca n’o sa te lase&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Asa ca, baiete, la mine in case&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vei sta, dar acum, te las, ia’ti visul.”&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si sufletul sau urca abisul.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;                    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Din ochii lui calzi, o lacrima curge.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Respira, deschide, priveste. Suspina&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Caci moarte’i lasase o boala. Continua.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ridica o mana, o ia pe a ei.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si murmura rece: “Oare, ma vrei?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bolnav.Imperfect. Un om printre printi.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nedemn de’o printesa creata de sfinti.”&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Printesa’i inchide ochii ce’au plans.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Incet, si’i sopteste:”Lumina din stele&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ti’ar putea spune. Dar nici macar ele&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nu stiu toata taina. Caci, stii, Fat-Frumos..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu.......”&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-8390153241745216026?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/8390153241745216026/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=8390153241745216026' title='2 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/8390153241745216026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/8390153241745216026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/07/scrisoare.html' title='Scrisoare'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-3919119575348564594</id><published>2008-06-21T01:37:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-06-21T01:42:17.150+03:00</updated><title type='text'>21 iunie</title><content type='html'>21 iunie. ora 1:37&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;         Invizibil pentru mult, important pentru noi/mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;         3 luni din noua mea viata au trecut. Nu, asta nu e o realizare, e doar..un punct. A venit, a trecut, il asteptam pe urmatorul. Nu e mult, nu e putin, e 3 luni, si sunt cu tine. Un sfert de an. 92 de zile. Ceva mai multe ore, de parca ar conta cate..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;         3 luni in care doi oameni s'au cunoscut mult si mult prea putin. In astea 3 luni ne'am plimbat printre rafturile vietii, si am ales. Locatii, evenimente, clipe dragi, clipe mai putin dragi. Destine si vieti. Am ales impreuna, desi inca nu stim ce am ales, dar ce conteaza..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;         3 luni in care s'au consumat...peste 1000 de saruturi, nenumarate atingeri, luari de mana, seri petrecute unul la altul in brate, nopti dormite impreuna, dimineti jucate ca doi copii. Promisiuni ca viata va fi la fel mult timp de acum incolo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          Astea's...datele statistice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          Sunt 3 luni in care mi'am dat seama ca n'am gresit cand ti'am zis ca te iubesc cu mult timp inainte. 3 luni in care am inceput sa invat ce inseamna acele doua cuvinte, sa le dau sensul meu propriu. 3 luni in care am pus fundatia verbului "a iubi".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          Continuarea, o punem impreuna. Da'mi, te rog, urmatoarea caramida. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-3919119575348564594?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/3919119575348564594/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=3919119575348564594' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/3919119575348564594'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/3919119575348564594'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/06/21-iunie.html' title='21 iunie'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-6015904757709972423</id><published>2008-06-08T19:47:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2008-06-08T19:47:47.558+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Copilarie</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;insert&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 14pt;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;          &lt;/span&gt;The human being is, by nature and definition, a creature that is always in pursuit of a goal. Humans must always have what to do, somewhere to go, people to meet, great things to achieve. For each age there are certain goals that every one of us tries to achieve, and these goals are unique for every person out there. Thus, we can say that the human being is a being defined by evolution. On its quest to find knowledge, understanding, love, friendship or other things, one evolves from a simple and innocent child to a responsible and complex adult.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 14pt;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;          &lt;/span&gt;Children start setting their own goals at different ages. In the early stages of their childhood, children can’t think further then their immediate needs. Needs like food, water, sleep, love, someone to play with, fun, and other such things. The complicated process of maturing starts when a child feels the need of other things, besides these. Things like a family, friends, people who can listen to him and understand him are things that matter more and more to the growing human. After reaching puberty, that adolescence, children feel the need of a person of the opposite sex close to them. After that period, the child is stating to become and adult, with a defined personality, and can then start to achieve his life-lasting goals: happiness, success, money, a happy family, and many, many more. But it all starts in childhood. That’s the most important period of anybody’s life.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 14pt;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;          &lt;/span&gt;In the first years of a child’s life, his brain focuses on some simple, yet very important tasks. Food, water and company are the most important things in the toddler’s life. Until he’s 2-3 years old, the child has to be fed by his parents, who must also offer him a cozy and loving home. Mostly people misjudge the importance of this period in a child’s life. If he is used with love and care since he is small, he’ll be a happy and warm person all his life. The loss of one parent in this period, caused by accidents, divorce or other types of separation can have drastic effects on the personality of the child. He will always need the lost mother or father, and no-one will ever be able to fill that goal in his heart. It is in these times when parents must be very careful what they do around the child, how they act and how they take care of him, for if they do this well, he will grow up nicely. In this time he will learn to speak, walk, and other such things, and thus he will start to be a social person, communicating with the others.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 14pt;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;          &lt;/span&gt;Now start a different phase of his growth. As the child reaches 4, 5 or 6 years of age, his needs will start to get more and more complex. One of the most important things he will focus on in this period is … fun. He will always want to play, to have toys, to make fun things, to learn new things, and thus he will want to have company from and with which to learn these things. The parents must thus spend time with the child; try to show him a little bit of everything there is to know about the world outside. In this period, the child is very, very curios. He will always ask questions, and one of his favorites will be “Why?” Good answers for these questions are necessary, and the parents must always be ready to give them. Playing with children is also very important, and must be done as often as possible.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This is the last phase of a child’s growth where the whole responsibility is in the arms of the parents. In the next phase, school will play a very important part in a child’s life. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 14pt;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;          &lt;/span&gt;Now begins a whole new life for children. At school, they one of the first things that they learn is that they’re not the most important person in the world and that there are other kids, just like them, sitting in the benches near them. Here a child learns discipline, respect, and here he finds all the knowledge he will ever want. Teachers will always be ready to answer his every question. He will find colleagues, and make friends that could last a lifetime. This period is very important in a child’s evolution. Children are all sociable persons, and only society can change this. So if children can maintain their level of sociability throughout school, he will have a lifetime to make all the friends he will need. The most important qualities in these days are creativity, adaptability and teamwork. All these are based on bonds made with other people, and the knowledge to create these bonds is gained in this period of a child’s life.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Parents mustn’t leave all the work of raising their child to the school; they must also offer him all the conditions necessary for him to succeed. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 14pt;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;          &lt;/span&gt;In the next period, once he finishes his elementary studies, a child start to have more and more complex needs. He start to search for groups of people that accept him as he is, groups who understand him and who value him. From this moment on, the entourage of a child is very, very important. Friends can have a big word in the evolution of a child, and peer pressure can lead him to bending the rules, or, even worst, start to have some bad habits. In this period, some children start smoking, skipping school, getting bad marks, and other such things. It is also the time that they reach puberty, and thus start to feel stronger and stronger attractions for the opposite sex. In this period they start to define their personality. They start to have their own passions, needs, likes and dislikes, their principles; they’re starting to act like responsible people. Starting to build up their own life. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 14pt;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;          &lt;/span&gt;Then, they reach adolescence. Children are now teenagers. From this moment on, their needs look like the needs of an adult. They need company, love, understanding, the feeling that they belong somewhere and with someone. They have their own ideas, and are willing to fight for them. Teenagers are the engine of the world. They have new ideas, they are creative, and they have all the time in the world to try to makes their ideas happen. They need encouragement, and with that, they can achieve great things. Enthusiasm, pride and the need to feel important are things that define every teenager. This is the last period of their childhood, and the first of their adult life. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 14pt;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;          &lt;/span&gt;Now, we can’t talk about a child anymore. We’re talking about an adult. But, in the end, every adult has the soul of a child. You’ll always see 40-year-olds playing soccer, watching cartoons, or laughing at jokes. After all these years, children have gone from being totally dependant on their parents, to living their own life and being independent. And what have we learned from all this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;          &lt;/span&gt;That a child is a unique being. That childhood is the most important part of a human’s evolution. Everything that ever touches a child in any way has an effect on his personality. Everything is important and must be taken into consideration: parents, friends, enemies, passions, relationships, ups and downs, wins and losses, everything has a word to say. The evolution of a human being is a very complex process, that has been happening for thousands of years. We’re now starting to understand it, but may never discover all it’s secrets. Until then, go out and play, feed the child in you.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-6015904757709972423?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/6015904757709972423/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=6015904757709972423' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/6015904757709972423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/6015904757709972423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/06/copilarie.html' title='Copilarie'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-6813722213543193438</id><published>2008-06-04T12:35:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-06-04T12:47:33.492+03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Take a deep breath. No, i mean it. Tradus, ar insemna sa tragi adanc aer in piept. Daca ai si face'o, ar fi perfect. Dar macar incearca.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;               Si acum, uite-te in jurul tau. Sau...de fapt nu te uita. Gandeste-te ce faci exact acum. Citesti un material postat pe un blog. Blogul unui prieten, unui cunoscut, unui iubit, depinde cum ma vezi.Dar..gandeste-te de ce o faci. Cum o faci. Citesti..pentru ca...genial, iti merge netul. Acum, ce s'ar intampla daca nu ar mai merge netul?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;               Ti-e frica ca s'ar putea sa nu mai mearga? Putin. Ca ai un plan de rezerva. Daca nu mai merge netul, pui mana pe telefon. Daca cumva nu ti'ai platit factura de telefon, te uiti la Tv. In caz ca nu mai ai curent in casa, eh, atunci ai o problema. Probabil citesti. Sau faci curat. Cand nu mai poti face asta, te joci cu pisica, sau vorbesti cu cei din familie, sau iesi in oras. Planuri de rezerva peste planuri de rezerva, toate raspunzand la cea mai tampita intrebare care exista. "Ce-ar fi daca..?".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;               E in natura umana sa conceapa planuri de rezerva. Acest lucru sa intampla din cele mai varii motive, incepand cu nevoia de siguranta, de a sti ca ziua de maine va fi la fel sau mai buna decat cea de azi, sau pur si simplu, va fi, si terminand cu presiunea grupului, cu rusinea infrangerii, si toate celelalte. In lipsa unui plan de rezerva, fiecare esec tinde spre catastrofa. Se poate ca dintr'un simplu esec, un om sa nu se poate recupera, sa nu se ridice si sa nu continue lupta. Si se intampla peste tot in jur. Oameni care cedeaza, care renunta la parti din ei, la pasiuni, la iubiri si la prietenii pentru ca nu s-au mai putut ridica. Si nu s-au mai putut ridica doar din motivul ca n'au avut un plan de rezerva. Frica lor de necunoscut a fost atat de puternica, incat odata ce necunoscutul a sosit, nici n-a mai avut ce distruge. Omul a fost prea socat sa mai lupte.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;              Si de aici incepe totul. Frica de note, frica de scoala, de profesori, de parinti, de faptul ca n'ai sa fii destul de bun cat ar vrea ei, frica de esec, frica de rusine, frica de suferinta, frica de sfarsit, frica, frica, frica. Oamenii nu multumesc pentru ce au din cauza ca apreciaza, ci din cauza ca inca le au. De fiecare data cand se uita in ochii persoanei iubite, in loc sa vada mari de vise, sentimente placute si frumoase, ei vad posibilitatea ca intr'o zi o vor pierde. Ceva trebuie schimbat aici. Trebuie incredere..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;             Incredere in propriile forte. Increderea de a visa, increderea in tine ca vei putea urmari orice vis. Fara sa'ti fie frica de chestii marunte, cum ar fi suferinta, moartea, si alte prostii. Frica niciodata nu te va duce mai aproape de vise..si totusi, acele vise sunt atat de aproape, uneori. Pasii care trebuie facuti intre o viata obisnuita si o viata perfecta sunt atat de mici, incat nimeni nu'i vede, si, deci, nimeni nu'i face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            Aveti incredere in voi, cei care cititi ce scrie aici! Fiecare puteti schimba lumea, asa cum au facut'o si altii. Nu lumea toata, ci lumea voastra. Iesiti afara si visati, zambiti, fiti frumosi pentru voi, si pentru acei putini oameni care vor zambi inapoi. Uitati-va cu grija in jur, ca poate fericirea voastra e mult mai aproape decat ati putea credea vreodata. Luptati pentru fiecare vis, indiferent cat de mic pare. Daca aveti o viata frumoasa care ati vrea s-o traiti, nu va fie frica de ce ati putea intalni pe drum. Iubiti, fara a va fi frica ca ati putea fi raniti vreodata, caci asa veti ajunge pe culmile viselor. Nu renuntati niciodata, caci singurul lucru de care merita sa va fie frica sunteti voi insiva! Si eu am incredere in fiecare din voi. Nu va fie frica, traiti si visati...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          Nu plecati..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-6813722213543193438?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/6813722213543193438/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=6813722213543193438' title='3 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/6813722213543193438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/6813722213543193438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/06/take-deep-breath.html' title=''/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-1090607944733988391</id><published>2008-06-02T19:07:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2008-06-02T19:09:07.519+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Lacul.</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Peste lacul din oglinda se asterne-n zare, noaptea.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Ea priveste. El se uita.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;          &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;In oglinda se reflecta pale lacrimi de nisip&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;O suita de vieti albe, toate de acelasi tip.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Raze noi, plutesc prin aer ca un stol de aripi vii&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Prevestind tot ce’i mai dulce pentru-a stelelor copii.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;In oglinda e si cerul, fara nori, pustiu si pur&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Un vis scurt, trait pe’o banca, care nu a prins contur&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Martorii cararii albe sunt doi greieri adormiti&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Care canta, beti de viata, printre frunze stand pititi...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Sub un cer pustiu, albastru, s’a nascut o banca mica&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;De’o culoare rosie, tare, soarele sa’i poarte pica&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Iar pe banca stau culcate, adormite’n vant de soare&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Gingase si moi, visate, dar traind, doua petale.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Sub petale, iarba verde, mirosind a catifea&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;E o rochie fara trena, dar croita pentru ea.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Iarba verde o va face zana muntelui creat&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Dintr-un fir de ata alba, fost cusut, dar nu uitat.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Langa zana sta si printul, zambitor ca o lalea&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Iar pe banca, stau culcate, coji de lacrimi drept saltea.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Peisajul din oglinda e facut din stropi de vis.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Frumusetea orbitoare izvorata din abis.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Cerul naste mandre stele, ce plutesc in lacul tei..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Printul sta, cu mana’i calda strans captiva’n parul ei.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Pe’al sau umar sta o zana, ce viseaza la o luntre&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Doar a lor, pentru iubirea ce le va servi drept punte.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Se privesc..oglinda cade, iar tot paradisul falnic.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Va trai in ochii lor, nu-intr-un ciob de sticla jalnic&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Doi ochi verzi, privind in umbra, si sperand a fi iubiti.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;De doi ochi, caprui si tineri, ce’o sa’i faca fericiti.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Intr-o clipa, se salveaza, paradisul va trai&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Nesfarsite veacuri calde, intre vremuri plumburii.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Un sarut, timid, cu cantec, a fost tot ce’a prevestit..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Ca o viata fericita se va naste din nimic..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-1090607944733988391?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/1090607944733988391/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=1090607944733988391' title='4 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/1090607944733988391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/1090607944733988391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/06/peste-lacul-din-oglinda-se-asterne-n.html' title='Lacul.'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-6212639003586280159</id><published>2008-05-21T18:08:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2008-05-21T18:09:56.994+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Despre noi</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;O camera goala.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dulapuri si mese, faianta si gresie, covoare, tablouri, paturi si birouri.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In camera goala. Si omul pe pat.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cautand cu disperare visul furat. Se’agata de timp, il prinde in cleste&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dar timpul, perfid, il scuipa si creste..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;          &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;In camera goala.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lacasuri de sfinti. El tine de vise, le da viata lui.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In schimb, tot ce cere, e’o foaie de roua..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Caci razele cerului vor scrie pe ea. Vor scrie, in roua, doar doua.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cuvinte. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;                  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Vise. Si-un nume.&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In camera goala, pe’o foaie de roua, stau oameni privind la tineri. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eroul ce’a scris, cu raze drept pix, se zbate sa’si dea viata pe-un vis.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Iar viata, inceata, ii spune usor:&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Pe’o foaie de roua e destinul tau.”&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Priveste. Din doua cuvinte frumoase de roua&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In viata lui, incepe sa ploua. Se uita la cer, si nori instelati.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ii picura vise pe ochii furati.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;          &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Pe foaia de roua sunt doua cuvinte.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Iar numele razei vise destinde.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Picteaza un chip, traseaza un suflet..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si numele ei il scrie pe frunte. Cu raze de soare, cu vise de mare, cu roua din vara, cu flacara lui.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Destinul surade. Ce copii nebuni..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-6212639003586280159?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/6212639003586280159/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=6212639003586280159' title='3 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/6212639003586280159'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/6212639003586280159'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/05/despre-noi.html' title='Despre noi'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-523447210124976791</id><published>2008-05-19T22:34:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2008-05-19T22:34:49.641+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Pal</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Astazi ploua.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Firul galben. Dinspre soare el rasare&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si plutind, incent, agale, ne arata drumul mare&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Il privim, si ochii tulburi plini de lacrimi fericite&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nu descriu, ci doar observa tainele adanc pitite.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Si incepe. Cu un pas, dar facut ca noi, deodata&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doua suflete alese ce’au pornit la drum, odata..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dupa primul, tot e simplu, inimile se deschid&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si petalele din gene ,&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;minunate, se intind..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Sus e cerul. Jos e iarba. Inspre eden, o carare&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peste capetele noastre se asterne o curata mare&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De cuvinte, ganduri, soapte, toate albe, verzi, un vis.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O podoaba de podoabe ce te’aduce’n paradis.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Dar apare. O padure ce intuneca plimbarea&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Iar pe umeri, necurata, ne va arde viu tigarea.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paseri gri, plutind pe ceruri de’o nuanta moarta, neagra&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ce privesc, infometate, cei doi printi ce pot sa mearga.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Visul gri devine negru. Cerul gri se prabuseste&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peste cei doi, vine, cade, negura lui ii domneste&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O furtuna arzatoare spala totul de pe drum&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dar cand trece, lasa’n cale, doua suflete in scrum..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Ei rezista. Si ridica manile impreunate&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si privesc, uimiti, cum cerul le’a distrus atatea fapte&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inchid ochii, se saruta, si padurea creste iar.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nici chitara de miresme nu mai canta in zadar.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Ochii verzi, sticlind abisul dintr’un cer purificat&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se deschid, privesc si simt paradisul mult visat&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pe un drum a carui cale o incep fire&lt;span style=""&gt;    &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doar a lor sunt strans legate, nu de viata, de iubire..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-523447210124976791?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/523447210124976791/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=523447210124976791' title='4 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/523447210124976791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/523447210124976791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/05/pal.html' title='Pal'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-3852073562142050551</id><published>2008-05-15T20:06:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2008-05-15T20:07:50.807+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Vis de vara</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Nu exista.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;          &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Dar o simte..marea calda ii saruta ochii verzi&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Norii calzi, plutind prin apa peste ceruri o sa’i vezi&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pescarusii albi inoata printre algele voioase&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O privire vie arunca imbratisari duioase.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Nu exista.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Dar o vede..sufletul ii sta deschis&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cautand , plin de succes, poarta catre paradis&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Intalnind privirea draga din abisuri izvorata,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ea decide ca nu simte vremea cea mai mohorata..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Nu exista.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Dar..exista! e acolo pentru noi..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ale noastre amintiri fug ca niste fluturi goi.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paradisul ne asteapta, este chiar in luntrea mica..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cheia spre o viata noua, fara lacrimi, fara frica..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;O traim.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Dar nu exista..ceilalti n’o pot vedea.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In acea existenta e loc doar de el si ea.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ploaia calda, marea calda, cerul, pietrele si norii&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pentru noi, doar un detaliu. Iubind, asteptam zorii..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-3852073562142050551?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/3852073562142050551/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=3852073562142050551' title='3 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/3852073562142050551'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/3852073562142050551'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/05/vis-de-vara.html' title='Vis de vara'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-6717554882576180595</id><published>2008-05-13T21:45:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-05-13T21:49:44.981+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Stil</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;            Noi.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Noi doi. Atingand culoarea, iti simt apasarea..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Sufletului tau, el aduce alinarea, transformand tot&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;/span&gt;            Nepasarea... neagra, gri si alba ce’a trait atatea veacuri&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;            A murit, trait, soptit, distrus leacuri&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Nepasarea a murit. Sufletul a rasarit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Noapte.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Noapte alba. Ziua neagra. Alba, neagra, gri la suflet&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;/span&gt;            Gri afara. Gri in strada, gri in casa. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Ucigas gri de apusuri. Viata de culori distruse&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            Sentimente , muze, toate duse &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;In abisul gri. Traieste.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Dar iubeste? &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;              &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Dupa moarte vine viata. Dupa viata..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Alta viata. Intinsa ca o coarda intre ei&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Sufltele lor ingheata topindu’se pe alei..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;Aripi verzi, stralucitoare, i’au purtat ca niste zei.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;Doar pe ei. In alta viata. Nepasarea ii invata, cu trecutul.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;Sa iubeasca.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;Doar pe ei.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-6717554882576180595?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/6717554882576180595/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=6717554882576180595' title='6 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/6717554882576180595'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/6717554882576180595'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/05/stil.html' title='Stil'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-6772467329683371443</id><published>2008-05-08T19:21:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2008-05-08T19:22:07.324+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Nu exista.</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;     &lt;/span&gt;Fiecare om trăieşte o aventura a sa. Toţi oamenii trăiesc aceeaşi aventură, aventura vieţii. Lucrul care îl face pe fiecare om unic în felul său, este modul in care alege să ducă la capăt această aventură. Toţi căutăm modele in viaţa, încercam să ne însuşim gândirea altcuiva, care ni se pare că se potriveşte perfect gândirii noastre. Aceasta este o dorinţa naiva, pornită din nevoia de a ne considera la fel de mari şi de puternici ca şi personalităţile din care ne inspirăm gândirea. Cele mai frumoase, mai utile şi mai pline de satisfacţii cărări spre sfârşitul aventurii umane sunt cele care se deschid în urma propriilor noastre gânduri. Noi trebuie să fim cei care ne construim cărarea. Unică, nu neapărat mai bună sau mai rea decât a altui om, fie el geniu, fie el ultimul om de pe pământ. Este cărarea nostra, formată în urma gândirii noastre, care ne va ajuta să înţelegem existenţa noastră.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;     &lt;/span&gt;Viaţa fiecăruia începe la naşterea sa,şi se termină cu moartea. Aceste două evenimente sunt bornele între care ne vom urma drumul ales în viaţă. Nimeni nu poate trăi însă degeaba. Fiecare trebuie să avem un scop, un Graal pe care îl vom căuta până îl vom găsi, iar apoi vom trăi în infinit. Scopul tuturor oamenilor este căutarea fericirii absolute. Oricine care afirmă altceva, se minte singur. Niciodata un om nu va fi pe deplin fericit până când nu va atinge acel prag, când toate lucrurile i se vor părea perfecte, când va putea să privească curcubeul în toata splendoarea celor şapte culori ale sale. Acesta este Graal-ul pe care îl caută omenirea, nu ca intreg, ci prin fiecare membru al său. Fericirea deplină.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="ES"&gt;Termenul de fericire este în general abstract. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;În practică, o persoană este fericită dacă toate nevoile sale materiale şi spirituale sunt satisfăcute. Un acoperiş desupra capului, mâncare pe masă, un loc de munca bun, pe scurt, un trai decent, toate aceastea contribuie la o fericire practică, la un sentiment de mulţumire adus de prezenţa tutoror lucrurilor enumerate mai sus. Nevoile spirituale ale omului sunt adesea mai complicate. Înţelegerea din partea prietenilor, compasiunea de care avem nevoie în perioadele mai puţin bune, nevoia de simpatie şi de admiraţie din partea altor oameni, iubirea care avem nevoia să o simţim pentru cineva şi din partea acelui cineva, şi multe altele...aceastea sunt genul de lucruri după care unii oameni aleargă toata viaţa. Nevoile spirituale ale omului sunt cele mai lungi şi mai întortocheate porţiuni din cărarea vieţii sale. Deşi sunt mai complicate de dobândit, aceste lucruri nu au deloc o importanţă mai mare decât cele materiale. Oamenii care susţin că viaţa spirituală contează mai mult decât viaţa materială au deja o situaţie materială decentă, dacă nu chiar bună. Ambele componente ale fericirii sunt la fel de importante.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;     &lt;/span&gt;Termenul de "spiritual" este văzut ca fiind ceva ireal, ceva de domeniul ficţiunii, respins de mulţi oameni din cauză că "n-o să mă ajute niciodată in viaţă" sau "am alte probleme mai importante". Genul acesta de replici reprezintă zidurile care aceşti oameni le ridică, prin propria voinţă, in faţa cărării lor. Antoine de Saint-Exupery&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;spunea în al său "Micul Prinţ" ca"Limpede nu vezi decât cu inima. Ochii nu pot să pătrundă-n miezul lucrurilor.".&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Nimeni nu poate găsi fericirea fără a privi cu inima lucrurile, dar nici fără a privii raţional, folosind doar ochii. Cele două feluri de a privi lucrurile trebuie să fie folosite deodata, intr-un superb echilibru. Realitatea si ficţiunea, spiritualul şi materialul tind să se echilibreze perfect, să pună o balanţa a vieţii în echilibru. Cele două concepte se contopesc perfect în absolut, reuşind, asemenea conceptului chinezesc de yin şi yang, să reprezinte perfecţiunea. Echilibrul dintre realitate şi ficţiune este centrul unei sfere,o sfera goală pe dinăuntru înafara acelui punct. Sfera reprezintă însuşi viaţa omului. Trăită din exterior spre interior, fiecare om încearcă să umple spaţiul gol din interior, pănă să ajungă să atingă punctul central din ambele direcţii ale sferei. O jumătate de sferă reprezintă spiritualul, cealaltă materialul. Doar trait în amândouă părţile, omul va ajunge să cunoască fericirea absoluta. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 13pt;" lang="IT"&gt;Î&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;n drumul spre căutarea acestei fericiri, fiecare mic detaliu conteaza. Octavian Paller spunea: "Nu dispreţui lucrurile mici; o lumânare poate face oricând ceea ce nu poate face niciodata soarele: să lumineze ... noaptea!". Fiecare detaliu contribuie la continuarea drumului. Omul, păşind pe Pământ, viseaza la stele. Ducând o existenţă bună, dar departe de perfecţiunea vidului ceresc, oamenii vor continua să facă din găsirea acelei perfecţiuni scopul central al vieţii lor. În punctul de echilibru dintre spiritual şi material, cele două nu se vor mai putea deosebi. Fiind una şi aceeşi senzaţie, neputând fii diferenţiate, se va deschide o noua perspectivă asupra lucrurilor. Cel care va reuşi să ajungă în acel punct, va privi lumea cu ochii lu Dumnezeu.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;     &lt;/span&gt;Totuşi, Dumnezeu lucrează singur. Centrul sferei, punctul de echilibru, reprezintă perfecţiunea. Iar în viaţa unui om, perfecţiunea nu poate fi atinsă.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Deşi scopul vieţii multor oameni este fericirea deplină, perfectă, nimeni nu va putea reuşi acest lucru vreodată. Aventura umană nu va avea niciodată sfârşit, şi nu va putea fi înţeleasă. Omul va continua să privească la stele până când Pământul nu va mai exista. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="ES"&gt;Fericirea deplină este un mit, un vis al unei nopţi de vară.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="ES"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Dacă fericirea deplină nu poate fi atinsă, trebuie să ne mulţumim cu o fericire relativă. Nu vom putea avea niciodată toate lucrurile de care avem nevoie, nu ne vom putea îndeplini toate nevoile materiale şi spirituale, dar din această cauză au oamenii priorităţi. Pentru unii nevoile materiale vor fi cele mai importante, pentru alţii iubirea, iar pentru alţii...alte nevoi. Horaţiu spunea că "Alergăm după fericire până departe, fie pe mare, fie pe uscat; când fericirea poate e aici, aproape, chiar lângă noi." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="ES"&gt;Da, fericirea este aproape de noi, trebuie doar s-o găsim şi s-o înţelegem. Nu este perfectă, cum nici un om nu este perfect. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Nu se poate atinge punctul de echilibru, deci nu vom fi niciodata pe deplin fericiţi. Oricum, mulţi oameni spun că sunt fericiţi, şi că nu au nevoie să găsească fericirea. Aceaştia spun un mare adevăr,deşi lumea se întreabă dacă sunt cu adevărat fericiţi, iar dacă sunt, anume cât de fericiţi. Răspunsul este foarte simplu.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="ES"&gt;Îndeajuns de fericiţi, ca să nu viseze la ceva ce nu pot avea. Cărarea vieţii are un sfârşit, un loc unde se subţiază până se confundă cu pământul de sub ea. Moartea nu vine ca o integrare în absolut, sau ca un pas spre viaţa veşnică. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Vine doar ca sfârşitul unei existenţe, care a avut un scop. Fericiţi vor fi doar cei care nu vor visa la perfecţiune. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-6772467329683371443?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/6772467329683371443/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=6772467329683371443' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/6772467329683371443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/6772467329683371443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/05/nu-exista.html' title='Nu exista.'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-6510927622023121089</id><published>2008-05-08T15:58:00.005+03:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T07:03:16.728+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Mai.</title><content type='html'>Luna mai. Inceputul sfarsitului de an scolar, inceputul verii, primavara tarzie, flori si verde afara. Invita la fericire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;         Si vine dupa un aprilie confuz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dar la granita dintre aprilie si mai, a venit cunoasterea zonei folclorice Uricani. Capatul vaii Jiului, pentru cei care vor sa gaseasca zona. Desi nu va recomand, ca n'o sa gasiti acolo nici hotel, nici turism, nici...nimic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dar eu am gasit...:)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCM8hjQLnEI/AAAAAAAAABk/qizHPkJA5to/s1600-h/Na+lol.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCM8hjQLnEI/AAAAAAAAABk/qizHPkJA5to/s400/Na+lol.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198064942012144706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCM8hzQLnFI/AAAAAAAAABs/zkDkmdkLhAM/s1600-h/test.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCM8hzQLnFI/AAAAAAAAABs/zkDkmdkLhAM/s400/test.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198064946307112018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCM8ijQLnGI/AAAAAAAAAB0/iOfdORE84nQ/s1600-h/altaaa.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCM8ijQLnGI/AAAAAAAAAB0/iOfdORE84nQ/s400/altaaa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198064959192013922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL8OzQLnBI/AAAAAAAAABM/mIjZjAWKR08/s1600-h/nr.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL8OzQLnBI/AAAAAAAAABM/mIjZjAWKR08/s400/nr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197994251145419794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL8PTQLnCI/AAAAAAAAABU/-yWtHVXz1eQ/s1600-h/nr1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL8PTQLnCI/AAAAAAAAABU/-yWtHVXz1eQ/s400/nr1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197994259735354402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL8PjQLnDI/AAAAAAAAABc/fJz2tjE2Jhc/s1600-h/nr2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL8PjQLnDI/AAAAAAAAABc/fJz2tjE2Jhc/s400/nr2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197994264030321714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-6510927622023121089?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/6510927622023121089/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=6510927622023121089' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/6510927622023121089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/6510927622023121089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/05/mai.html' title='Mai.'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCM8hjQLnEI/AAAAAAAAABk/qizHPkJA5to/s72-c/Na+lol.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-332140338407611604</id><published>2008-03-15T22:06:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T22:11:18.209+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Singur</title><content type='html'>Poate..acesta e primul articol care are si rost pe acest blog. E..o poezie scrisa de mine intr-un moment de plictiseala, care are ceva radacini in unele din problemele cu care ma confrunt in viata reala. Majoritatea oamenilor se plang ca n'au intalnit iubire sincera toata viata...eu..am intalnit prea multa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          Fara mai multe cuvinte, va prezint...:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;Singur&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;In umbra lunii moarte pe albastrul marii tale&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Pe cand zborul unei pasari se vedea, inca, in zare&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Inca respira, o, doamne! E un sunet chiar sublim...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Desi ochii morti si singuri aratau doar..venin.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Ii stii chipui. Ii stii viata. Moartea a venit curand&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Si ecoul mainii sale intr-a ta, il simti, zburand&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Printre fire, gene, sange, doar o lacrima zareste&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Chipul gri pe care Dumnezeu, indurerat, priveste..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Lacrima-si gaseste drumul, si incet, coboara, du-te...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Sti ca va ajunge, si va spune toate vrute si nevrute.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Intr’o lacrima, salvat, alb si negru incrustat&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Sufletul tau mistic se’ascundea de-ntunecat.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Caci stiai, stiai prea bine ca atunci cand o sa’l simti&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Lacrimile tale n’o sa fie prea fierbinti&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;O raceala moarta, lunga, se prelinge in faclii&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Spre a tale lacrimi, ude, care maine n’or mai fii..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Ia’l de mana. Nu mai plange. Respiratia inceteaza&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Inima lui nu mai bate, creierul protesteaza...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;In jur, fade, zgomotoase, toate lucrurile tipa&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Lumea ta, frumoasa, suava, pare curpinsa de gripa&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Caci e gri. Nisipul, marea, pescarusii tai din zare&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Lacrima ta a cazut doar ca sa’i arate calea&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;L’ai lasat sa ia cu el tot ce ti’era drag in viata&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;In schimb, gri, atat mai urla lumea ta care ingheata&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Moarte? Nu. Mai rau. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Chin vesnic pentr-un suflet vinovat&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Care a lipsit de la caderea, lui..in necurat.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Gri e viata. Gri e moartea. Gri sunt buzele iubind&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Tin in ele toate glasurile, gri si ele, de argint.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;Te ridici, graiesti, sopting, parca neputand sa pleci..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;“Te iubesc, si..stiu ca m-ai ales dintre alte zeci..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Viata ta, verde cu negru, am putut ca s’o salvez..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Dar..n’am vrut...nu vroiam sa incetez”&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Peste chipul gri, de moarte, se’asternuse’un val de gheata&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Sub val, el, iubitul serii, isi privea frumoasa viata..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;A ales’o pentru viata, o iubire ca’n povesti..&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Dar ea, gri si mohorata, l’a lasat plutind, in veci..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="IT"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-332140338407611604?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/332140338407611604/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=332140338407611604' title='1 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/332140338407611604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/332140338407611604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/03/singur.html' title='Singur'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7597772782062076323.post-4327226543940889458</id><published>2008-03-14T00:01:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T07:03:16.861+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='neatsa bah'/><title type='text'>Buna...dimineata. 12:00</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/R9mlcDhpaRI/AAAAAAAAAAM/TFQhiEMCudk/s1600-h/Sky.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/R9mlcDhpaRI/AAAAAAAAAAM/TFQhiEMCudk/s400/Sky.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177351148040448274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Neatsa. Oricui citeste.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          In deplina conformitate cu moda conformista, Trace Ian Legacy a.k.a eu isi face blog. De PLICTISEALA. Asa ca orice injurii aveti sa'ti adresati, acum aveti un cadru frumos unde puteti sa le scrieti, pi buni ca nu ma supar. Cheers si ne auzim!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Las totusi in urma mea o mica doza din fotografiile recente.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7597772782062076323-4327226543940889458?l=tracelegacy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/feeds/4327226543940889458/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7597772782062076323&amp;postID=4327226543940889458' title='5 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/4327226543940889458'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7597772782062076323/posts/default/4327226543940889458'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tracelegacy.blogspot.com/2008/03/bunadimineata-1200.html' title='Buna...dimineata. 12:00'/><author><name>TraceLegacy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08083163042404091661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/SCL4bzQLm7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/bRxQP_1lkjk/S220/903.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7pZG9HqNixg/R9mlcDhpaRI/AAAAAAAAAAM/TFQhiEMCudk/s72-c/Sky.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry></feed>
