<?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-4866205516821643281</id><updated>2012-02-04T15:11:57.173-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pe Urmele Creatiei</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Dee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14647746120264192726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fKs0yW8qbU/TeJM_LxOTmI/AAAAAAAAAD4/98-jeCJdSt0/s220/SDC17927.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>14</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866205516821643281.post-1380956983970427323</id><published>2012-02-04T14:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-02-04T15:11:57.183-08:00</updated><title type='text'>*</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-txQIcXmPAXc/Ty26xDzvLsI/AAAAAAAAAFY/KuEbVWGqNsE/s1600/397292_310463168989336_224642160904771_791320_99914973_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-txQIcXmPAXc/Ty26xDzvLsI/AAAAAAAAAFY/KuEbVWGqNsE/s320/397292_310463168989336_224642160904771_791320_99914973_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705421654946950850" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si iata, mi-e de-ajuns sa te iubesc,&lt;br /&gt;O zi, un anotimp, o viata.&lt;br /&gt;Fara ca tu macar sa stii,&lt;br /&gt;Fara ca eu macar sa-ti povestesc.&lt;br /&gt;Nu cer nici zambet,&lt;br /&gt;nici iubire,&lt;br /&gt;nici cuvinte.&lt;br /&gt;Si totusi mi-e de-ajuns,&lt;br /&gt;Iubirea ta ce nu mi-e data mie,&lt;br /&gt;Si inima-ti s-o stiu in plina vara,&lt;br /&gt;Si chipul ca o mie de mistere,&lt;br /&gt;atat de adorat odinioara…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fara regret,manie sau durere,&lt;br /&gt;Iubesc….&lt;br /&gt;Si totusi mi-e de-ajuns !&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4866205516821643281-1380956983970427323?l=peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/feeds/1380956983970427323/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2012/02/blog-post.html#comment-form' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/1380956983970427323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/1380956983970427323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2012/02/blog-post.html' title='*'/><author><name>Dee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14647746120264192726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fKs0yW8qbU/TeJM_LxOTmI/AAAAAAAAAD4/98-jeCJdSt0/s220/SDC17927.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-txQIcXmPAXc/Ty26xDzvLsI/AAAAAAAAAFY/KuEbVWGqNsE/s72-c/397292_310463168989336_224642160904771_791320_99914973_n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866205516821643281.post-4036521389742089731</id><published>2011-12-28T05:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-28T05:31:38.676-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Scrisoare catre iubitul necunoscut…</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RGvM6O17j9A/TvsaFCUc_cI/AAAAAAAAAFA/iEmWRAX0re4/s1600/lovely.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; 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  &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="21" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Emphasis"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="31" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Reference"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="32" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Reference"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="33" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Book Title"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="37" name="Bibliography"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" qformat="true" name="TOC Heading"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable  {mso-style-name:"Table Normal";  mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;  mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;  mso-style-noshow:yes;  mso-style-priority:99;  mso-style-qformat:yes;  mso-style-parent:"";  mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;  mso-para-margin-top:0cm;  mso-para-margin-right:0cm;  mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;  mso-para-margin-left:0cm;  line-height:115%;  mso-pagination:widow-orphan;  font-size:11.0pt;  font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";  mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;  mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;  mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";  mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;  mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;  mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;  mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";  mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:right" align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;27.12.2011&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center" align="center"&gt;Draga tu,&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center" align="center"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;    &lt;/span&gt;Iti scriu aceasta scrisoare fara destinatar avand drept adresa doar speranta…Acest sentiment atat de efemer in aparenta, insa&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;ce nu moare&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;nicicand in esenta.Iti scriu de aici, dintre peretii ziditi din materiale mai putin nobile, dar in acelasi timp trainice, capabile sa dezbine mintile umane: un perete este construit din durere, altul din nesiguranta, altul din neincredere si in final..cel mai intins este construit din singuratate.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Zilnic, neobosita,&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;iau pensula si incep sa ii pictez&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;putin cate putin in culorile unei vieti noi.Cand totul incepe sa capete forma, peretii imi crapa desenele obtinute cu atata truda, dar apare o noua zi, iar eu…...pictez.Cand in final cei trei pereti sunt gata, ramane cel mai solid, cu suprafata cea mai mare, cel ce nu iarta nici&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;o pictura, destramand-o in clipa urmatoare.Cumplita, singuratatea nu cunoaste limite, ma sufoca, imi strapunge pieptul cu putere, ma indeamna spre pieire, dar eu nu o s-o las.Nu o s-o las, caci te voi intalni pe tine: Iubitul meu! Iar tu,ei bine, tu vei sti cum sa opresti nebunia asta, ma vei scoate din galagia&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;continua dinauntrul meu, vei indrepta un scut catre durerea asta surda, ma vei infasa in matasea vorbelor tale, ma vei asculta ca un prieten cand voi vrea sa-ti vorbesc, iar eu iti voi urma ascultatoare sfaturile.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Vreau ca tu sa ma iubesti simplu,fara sa stie o lume intreaga, fara sa judeci, fara tipi, fara sa aduci injurii.Dar, iubirea mea,&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;rugamintea&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;cea mai de pret este :&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;nu-mi profana sufletul tarandu-l prin mlastina lumeasca, nu-l ingenunchea in fata minciunii, nu-l schingiui prin indiferenta, nu face din el ce altii au fost capabili.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Iti voi incerdinta toata fiinta mea, dar ai grija, nu o invinui pentru turnurile sale deloc&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;placute,caci nu uita, fiinta umana este sortita greselii, dar si regretelor.Cea care-ti va fi iubita va incerca sa se apere, sa se zbata pentru a deveni puternica, impasibila.Sa nu o lasi! Invata-I calitatile adevarate,reda-I increderea in oameni, arata-I ca iubirile adevarate nu sunt doar o plasmuire a imaginatiei sale,ci ele exista,doar ca ea nu le-a descoperit inca. Atunci, o vei vedea ca pe o femeie noua si vei putea fi mandru,iubite, caci va fi numai opera ta.&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;Intre timp, eu voi fi tot aici irosindu-mi&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;culorile,vopsind iubirile mele amare, vopsindu-te pe tine, construindu-ti un chip pe care sa-l ador, un trup pe care sa-l dezmierd si un suflet la care sa nu pot renunta nici sub greutatea ultimei suflari.Iar cand vei aparea voi sti ca esti tu,voi simti asta cu toata fiinta mea!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:right" align="right"&gt;Cu dor,&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;                                                                                                                                                                                              &lt;/span&gt;Eu&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4866205516821643281-4036521389742089731?l=peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/feeds/4036521389742089731/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2011/12/scrisoare-catre-iubitul-necunoscut.html#comment-form' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/4036521389742089731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/4036521389742089731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2011/12/scrisoare-catre-iubitul-necunoscut.html' title='Scrisoare catre iubitul necunoscut…'/><author><name>Dee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14647746120264192726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fKs0yW8qbU/TeJM_LxOTmI/AAAAAAAAAD4/98-jeCJdSt0/s220/SDC17927.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RGvM6O17j9A/TvsaFCUc_cI/AAAAAAAAAFA/iEmWRAX0re4/s72-c/lovely.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866205516821643281.post-5132607809771413998</id><published>2011-12-09T06:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-09T07:00:59.218-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Piedestal</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8NSqdr1hsmg/TuIiOApUrtI/AAAAAAAAAE0/-Tu6sb4xu3s/s1600/566556.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8NSqdr1hsmg/TuIiOApUrtI/AAAAAAAAAE0/-Tu6sb4xu3s/s320/566556.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5684143303781822162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;o:officedocumentsettings&gt;   &lt;o:relyonvml/&gt;   &lt;o:allowpng/&gt;  &lt;/o:OfficeDocumentSettings&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:trackmoves/&gt;   &lt;w:trackformatting/&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:donotpromoteqf/&gt;   &lt;w:lidthemeother&gt;EN-US&lt;/w:LidThemeOther&gt; 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 mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;  mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;  mso-style-noshow:yes;  mso-style-priority:99;  mso-style-qformat:yes;  mso-style-parent:"";  mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;  mso-para-margin-top:0in;  mso-para-margin-right:0in;  mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;  mso-para-margin-left:0in;  line-height:115%;  mso-pagination:widow-orphan;  font-size:11.0pt;  font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";  mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;  mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;  mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;  mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;  mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";  mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt;Falnic piedestal am inaltat&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt;Si am suit mandra pe el,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt;imaginea netrebnicei perfectiuni&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt;Fragil, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt;n a rezistat, s- a spart sub greutatea neimplinirii.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt;Ruginiu si stanjenit, acum , piedestalul&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt;Asteapta…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt;O adiere, o atingere, o raza,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt;insa, lumina sa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt;atat de falnic stralucind demult,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt;S-a stins in umbra ce purta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt;Dulcele semn al falsitatii.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt;Si ce candva a fost o muza&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:14.0pt;"&gt;s-a transformat acum, in frunza…&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/4866205516821643281-5132607809771413998?l=peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/feeds/5132607809771413998/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2011/12/piedestal.html#comment-form' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/5132607809771413998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/5132607809771413998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2011/12/piedestal.html' title='Piedestal'/><author><name>Dee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14647746120264192726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fKs0yW8qbU/TeJM_LxOTmI/AAAAAAAAAD4/98-jeCJdSt0/s220/SDC17927.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8NSqdr1hsmg/TuIiOApUrtI/AAAAAAAAAE0/-Tu6sb4xu3s/s72-c/566556.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866205516821643281.post-1991305167491681020</id><published>2011-05-29T06:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-29T06:49:47.103-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VK9JQfM0qy0/TeJOq04ngaI/AAAAAAAAAEY/VlN8G7YTlb4/s1600/15333_lucid_240.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VK9JQfM0qy0/TeJOq04ngaI/AAAAAAAAAEY/VlN8G7YTlb4/s320/15333_lucid_240.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612134583314645410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                  Gânduri…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Obstacol a numit-o, în calea sa spre culmile voalate ale viitorului&lt;br /&gt;Şi-ntr-un tren ce deraiază de pe şinele-nţelegerii,&lt;br /&gt;a transformat iubirea.&lt;br /&gt;Şi da, mi-a trimis tot gerul de afară,&lt;br /&gt;lângă mâna stângă…&lt;br /&gt;Uitând când se înfrupta din dulcea frăgezime&lt;br /&gt;a trupului neînceput.&lt;br /&gt;Famelică, am căutat să iubesc mereu acelaşi “EL”&lt;br /&gt;care, în nebunia lui, parcă e orb în faţa&lt;br /&gt;plecăciunilor mele.&lt;br /&gt;Şi-acum, o să-nfăşor gândurile în eşarfa&lt;br /&gt;veche, şifonată, rostogolită-n frunze blonde,&lt;br /&gt;aproape moarte.&lt;br /&gt;Şi o s-o las,&lt;br /&gt;În fiece moment ar vrea,&lt;br /&gt;Să-mi alunece în jurul gâtului,&lt;br /&gt;s-alunge pacea efemerităţii mele.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4866205516821643281-1991305167491681020?l=peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/feeds/1991305167491681020/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2011/05/ganduri-obstacol-numit-o-in-calea-sa.html#comment-form' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/1991305167491681020'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/1991305167491681020'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2011/05/ganduri-obstacol-numit-o-in-calea-sa.html' title=''/><author><name>Dee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14647746120264192726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fKs0yW8qbU/TeJM_LxOTmI/AAAAAAAAAD4/98-jeCJdSt0/s220/SDC17927.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VK9JQfM0qy0/TeJOq04ngaI/AAAAAAAAAEY/VlN8G7YTlb4/s72-c/15333_lucid_240.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866205516821643281.post-1076409081321131948</id><published>2010-05-03T07:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-03T08:55:48.721-07:00</updated><title type='text'>O lume dintr-un colt de minte</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/S97j68IgvpI/AAAAAAAAADY/8CibgIh_qi8/s1600/sunshine_____by_salihguler%5B2%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467057599388106386" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/S97j68IgvpI/AAAAAAAAADY/8CibgIh_qi8/s320/sunshine_____by_salihguler%5B2%5D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cu ochii inchisi, membrele nemiscate o buna bucata de timp, cu o expresie impasibila , inconjurata de intuneric intr-o atmosfera de mormant, Mabel parea cufundata intr-un somn mai adanc decat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;strafundurile mintii umane.Chiar si asa, ea era atat de treaza incat ar fi reactionat imediat oricarui&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;stimul perturbator.&lt;br /&gt;"Pana cand amantii ne vor desparti" tronau cuvintele pe pagina care altfel era atat de goala, insa plina pana la refuz de miile de intelesuri atribuite acestora. Aruncand o prima privire, i se pareau atat de caraghioase, privindu-le in sensul profund, Mabel descoperi inca o pierdere nefasta a unei valori morale perimate: onestitatea.&lt;br /&gt;Siguranta oferita - chiar si prin evanescenta lor- de celebrele "Pana cand moartea ne va desparti" se zdruncina din temeliile deja slabite, in fata trvialitatii amantului,geloziei si neincrederii.Bieti pamanteni, ce singuri se inseala, orbiti de egoism , avaritie si sete de putere,ei cred in ratiunea ce le amaraste fiecare minut in care continua sa vietuiasca.Putini sunt cei care privesc dincolo de toate acestea si care vad cum Iubirea zambeste malitios asteptand cu o rabdare diabolica, ceasul in care isi va dovedi suprematia.Mabel vedea. Asemeni unei vrajitoare careia puterile ii obosesc psihicul, pe Mabel o epuizase simtirea care devenise oprimanta, rareori placuta. O simtea ca pe o maladie careia incerca sa ii gaseasca remedii paliative. Sub pleoapele inchise isi imagina panoul de fotografii si spatiile goale, atat de evidente, semn ca ceva se schimbase, ca cineva nu mai era, ca cineva sapase acele locuri libere printre fotografii precum si printre cele patru camarute ale inimii, altadata, mereu calde, mereu primitoare.Mabel se simtea aproape vexata la gandul ca cineva ar mai putea nazui vreodata la acele camarute si la caldura de odinioara.Acum, domneste dezamagirea in alianta cu angoasa.Ele au redecorat incaperile cu sentimente contradictorii de frustrare, atasament sufletesc si speranta, au slabit sclipirile ce-i luminau culoarea ochilor.&lt;br /&gt;Fiecare circumvolutiune isi cerea dreptul la odihna, fara sa ghiceasca faptul ca treptat, o vor primi...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Paris! La France! se auzi o voce puternica.&lt;br /&gt;Nedumerita, Mabel privea stradutele inguste ce i se intindeau sub priviri,doamne costumate in contese, cu rochii impopotonate din matase fina, umbrelute de soare si posetute minuscule, la fel de impodobite.Domnii purtau costume ce pareau vechi de un secol , papioane si palarii.Cum ajunsese acolo?Cine erau toti oamenii aceia?&lt;br /&gt;-Sa fie un bal mascat?Dar cum de orasul pare atat de vechi?&lt;br /&gt;Nu-si amintea decat ca inainte cu un minut, admira un peisaj asemanator intr-o fotografie.Cu mintea vajaindu-i cu mii de intrebari , Mabel cauta un raspuns in fiecare trecator, dar ei pareau cu totii surzi.Se simtea blocata intr-o lume care nu era nicidecum a ei, nimeni nu o cunostea, nimeni nu o vedea, parea de vis..asa ca hotarâ sa se bucure de imprejurimi.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In lumea reala insa....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Dumneavoastra sunteti mama?&lt;br /&gt;O femeie micuta, cu ochii rosii si umflati si cu o privire ingrijorata, rosti cu vocea-i slaba:&lt;br /&gt;-Da, da, eu sunt mama ei.&lt;br /&gt;-Se pare ca avem de-a face cu o forma grava de schizofrenie. Spunea doctorul rasfoind niste fise, privind pe deasupra ochelarilor.&lt;br /&gt;Fiind o femeie simpla, Sandrine nu stia exact ce presupune respectiva boala, insa o impresie vaga avea, iar cuvintele "forma grava" o facura sa izbucneasca in plans.&lt;br /&gt;-Si acum ce face?unde este?pot sa o vad?&lt;br /&gt;-V-as ruga sa va calmati si sa imi dati voie sa va explic in ce consta boala fiicei domneavoastra.&lt;br /&gt;Sandrine bau paharul de apa cu zahar oferit si parea ca se mai linistise.&lt;br /&gt;-Bun.In cazul lui Mabel, boala se manifesta prin alterarea personalitatii, ea trăieşte o viaţă dublă, în lumea reală şi în lumea reprezentărilor delirante.Daca boala evolueaza, se poate inchide in ea insasi, traind intr-o lume interioară fără contact cu mediul exterior.Va urma un tratament medicamentos cu antipsihotice, daca acesta nu va avea efect, va voi vorbi si despre terapia prin electrosoc, dar sa asteptam reactia organismului...Doamna?va simtiti bine?&lt;br /&gt;Cu niste ochi goi, Sandrine privea intr-un punct fix.&lt;br /&gt;-Da, sunt bine, sunt bine.&lt;br /&gt;-Foarte bine, va recomand sa mergeti sa va odihniti, Mabel va ramane in grija noastra pentru inceput, acum i-a fost administrat un calmant, dar maine o veti putea gasi treaza.&lt;br /&gt;Sandrine nu mai insista sa o vada, pasi spre usa cabinetului fara un cuvant.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;　&lt;br /&gt;Pilmbandu-se neobosita pe strazile vechiului Paris, Mabel isi zambea fericita din fiecare oglinda sau vitrina a unui magazin. Se simtea eliberata de orice fel de povara, nu mai era nevoita sa-si munceasca mintea in zadar, trebuia sa se bucure si atat.Un afis al unui film vechi ii aparu in fata parca de nicaieri.Privindu-l insistent, in urmatoarele momente se trezi printre numerosi actori ce jucau o scena din filmul respectiv.De data aceasta, orice urma de nedumerire se evapora, stia ca trebuie sa caute o fotografie a unui loc pe care ar vrea sa-l viziteze si sa o priveasca staruitor&lt;br /&gt;.Gasi in cele din urma, in portofelul ei , o fotografie a mamei.Numaidecat, imaginea o transpuse in lumea reala.Mabel deschise ochii orbiti de lumina puternica a salonului din spital.Camera era alba, goala, fara niciun obiect de mobilier.Privi speriata in jur, apoi scoase tipete puternice, smulgandu-si firele de par.Doi asistenti medicali au imobilizat-o in urmatoarele cateva minute.Mintea ei era complet lucida, numai trecerea brusca de la noua sa lume la cea reala a dezorientat-o, a speriat-o, conducand-o spre acea cadere nervoasa.&lt;br /&gt;Profitand de starea de luciditate a pacientei sale , doctorul intră in camera descriindu-i locul in care se afla si simptomele bolii sale.Mabel deveni livida, iar mintea incepu sa proceseze in mare viteza, despicand fiecare informatie in mii de particularitati.Sentimentul de libertate pe care il regasea in delirarile sale era acum departe, iar ea simtea din nou greutatea enorma a complexitatii gandirii .Se privi in oglinda, iar imaginea ii repugna.Umerii ii atarnau grei pe langa corpul slabit, hranit artificial, ochii nu ii mai sclipeau ca ultima data cand se privise intr-una dintre vitrinele magazinelor imaginatiei sale, era impovarata, nelinistita.Vroia odihna in continuare, iar pentru ea, boala insemna o vindecare de mistuirile sufletesti, o limpezire a mintii surmenate.&lt;br /&gt;In cele din urma, Sandrine aparu in cadrul usii inaintad spre fiica sa care inca isi privea trupul relativ acoperit.&lt;br /&gt;-Ce faci acolo, draga mea?&lt;br /&gt;-Nu mai sunt eu, mama, priveste-ma, nu mai sunt eu !&lt;br /&gt;Sandrine isi stapani emotiile coplesitoare, acoperindu-si fiica printr-o imbratisare calduroasa menita sa-i transmita o mica masura de vitalitate, fara efect insa.Mabel arata la fel de nefericita, la fel de slabita.&lt;br /&gt;-Mama, imi vei ierta vreodata egoismul de a te parasi in lumea aceasta?&lt;br /&gt;-Mabel, ce vrei sa spui?&lt;br /&gt;-Am descoperit un alt timp, o alta dimensiune, una in care nu sunt decat un suflet fericit si o minte limpede intr-un trup imposibil de observat de catre ceilalti.Acolo devin o persoana vivace, interesanta, minunat de libera, niciodata inclestata de greseli, critici, oameni nerozi sau ignoranti, cruzime si pot continua enumerarea la nesfarsit.&lt;br /&gt;Sandrine isi pleca usor capul recunoscand in sinea ei ca nu avusese niciodata idee despre ceea ce se afla de fapt in interiorul celei careia i-a dat viata.I se parea o scena ditr-un film cu un scenariu prost: fiica cerandu-i mamei sa o lase in voia schizofreniei , sa o lase sa innebuneasca, sa-si piarda mintile ireversibil, iar mama presata de cele doua extreme - respecatrea dorintei fiicei ei si decizia fireasca de a o trata- se vede nevoita sa accepte in cele din urma decizia fetei. Desigur, era constienta si de faptul ca multe persoane cu schizofrenie nu cred ca au nevoie de ajutor deoarece, pentru ele, delirul si halucinatiile sunt reale. Mai stia si ca daca pacientul refuza tratamentul, atunci totul este in zadar.&lt;br /&gt;-N-am crezut niciodata ca fiica mea este o lasa, care refuza sa lupte pentru propria viata.&lt;br /&gt;-Dar asta nu este nici pe departe o dovada de lasitate, ci doar o intorsatura ciudata pe care a luat-o viata mea si pe care trebuie sa o continui pentru ca a fost trimisa cu un scop, nu crezi?Acela de a-mi oferi halucinatiile de care am atat de multa nevoie.Asa ca te rog, lasa-ma in delirul meu si acum, adu-mi niste fotografii ale unor locuri exotice, pline de prospetime si naturalete.&lt;br /&gt;Cu ochii iesiti din orbite, Sandrine isi privea mainile care cautau disperate niste ziare, reviste sau orice altceva care i-ar putea servi fiicei sale drept portal spre lumea ei.Gasi in cele din urma sub patul de spital o singura fotografie care absolut intamplator reprezenta un loc asemanator descrierii lui Mabel. I-o intinse grijulie cu ambele maini, fata o privi insistent apoi, brusc privirea ii ramase atintita in peretele amorf parand ca admira neantul.Inchipuirile sale bolnave o scosesera din dimensiunea normala a realitatii si numai in momentele acelea, trasaturile fetei deveneau calde, suave, ochii scplipeau in nebunia lor, iar gura isi intorcea colturile intr-un zambet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mabel nu mai vedea realitatea celor din jur care o deranja atat de tare, ci traia in rodul imaginatiei sale, in universul creat pentru a doua oara de ea insasi.Isi agita bratele inotand spre libertate in marea de topaz exact ca aceea din fotografia pe care mama ei inca o tinea intre degete privindu-si indurereata fiica.&lt;br /&gt;In urmatoarele luni, vazand ca niciun medicament nu isi face efectul, actiona in cele din urma in favoarea dorintei fiicei ei.Mabel se trezea din ce in ce mai rar si pentru putin timp din halucinatiile sale.Uimitor era ca boala nu avansa foarte mult, dar nici de vindecare nu putea fi vorba, totusi, Sandrine era acum fericita pentru fiica sa care in delirul sau isi doreste sa traiasca asa ca opri tratamentul, iar boala stagnă.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Intre timp, intr-un colt de lume, ca un graunte de frumusete, Mabel traia la fel ca noi toti prin puterea psihicului, avand alte simturi, alte reprezentari, vazand totul intr-un mod diferit.Lumea avea aceeasi culoare, insa capatase alt fel de contururi, unele pline de farmec, iar acest farmec se afla interiorul oamenilor nou creati.&lt;br /&gt;In neintrerupta stare de plenitudine, intre firicele de iarba care-i gadilau fata sub o raza, Mabel privea ca insusi Creatorul, tot ceea ce construise aproband impacata.Odihna indelung cersita isi intra in drepturi lasand creierul sa respire aerul proaspat al lipsei de ratiune.Isi cufunda picioarele in apa chiar daca stia ca nu simte nimic; se inselase insa...simtea.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4866205516821643281-1076409081321131948?l=peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/feeds/1076409081321131948/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2010/05/o-lume-dintr-un-colt-de-minte.html#comment-form' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/1076409081321131948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/1076409081321131948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2010/05/o-lume-dintr-un-colt-de-minte.html' title='O lume dintr-un colt de minte'/><author><name>Dee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14647746120264192726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fKs0yW8qbU/TeJM_LxOTmI/AAAAAAAAAD4/98-jeCJdSt0/s220/SDC17927.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/S97j68IgvpI/AAAAAAAAADY/8CibgIh_qi8/s72-c/sunshine_____by_salihguler%5B2%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866205516821643281.post-8918269237357077116</id><published>2009-12-16T10:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-06-18T07:44:18.176-07:00</updated><title type='text'>O raza de optimism</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SykrUwlp_pI/AAAAAAAAADA/EVCEq0DO2E8/s1600-h/retroooooooo+%284%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 197px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415907662529953426" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SykrUwlp_pI/AAAAAAAAADA/EVCEq0DO2E8/s320/retroooooooo+%284%29.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"&gt;Cand inima iti este atat de grea incat simti ca te vei sufoca, aminteste-ti ca EL este acolo , undeva, rece si nepasator.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cand din intamplare auzul tau atinge sunetele unei melodii triste, nu plange, ascult-o zambitoare, caci o melodie trista este intotdeauna o melodie frumoasa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cand iti simti inima ca agatata in cuie, aminteste-ti de indeletnicirile tale, lucruri care odinioara-ti faceau placere, lucruri de mult uitate...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cand lacrimile-si cer cu fermitate dreptul de a iesi la suprafata, ca si cum ar avea vointa proprie, lasa-le sa-ti curga lin pe obraji, apoi mergi mai departe cu sufletul si ochii limpezi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cand amintirile dureroase te invaluie intr-un fior de gheata, aminteste-ti ca odata, acele momente au reprezentat fericire si ca nici o forta a naturii nu le poate transforma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cand cel care in ochii tai se scalda in admiratie, devine impasibil, nu-l judeca, doar taci, vindeca-ti inima apoi zdrobeste-l tocmai in momentele sale de cumpana.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cand nu-ti doresti decat sa zaci inerta asteptand ca sangele sa-ti paraseasca trupul, aminteste-ti ca traiesti si ca acesta este un lucru minunat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cand simti ca suferinta lasa loc nebuniei/bolii, fii egosita! gandeste-te cat rau ii faci fetei vesele de odinioara, iubeste-ti propria persoana mai presus decat orice pe lume !&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cand te simti singura, atat de singura incat constiinta de sine te aduce in pragul nebuniei, gandeste-te ca ca omul a fost creat diferit de ceilalti, tocmai pentru ca este menit sa fie singur, oricat de multe persoane l-ar iubi. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"&gt;Cand gandurile nesocotite te indreapta spre fapte necugetate, aminteste-ti de oamenii care ar da orice pentru o secunda de viata. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"&gt;Cand iti doresti sa te trezesti suferind de amnezie, numai pentru a uita o singura etapa a vietii, gandeste-te ca e timpul sa incepi lupta cea mai grea: aceea cu propria-ti persoana.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4866205516821643281-8918269237357077116?l=peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/feeds/8918269237357077116/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/12/o-raza-de-optimism-pentru-fetele-mele.html#comment-form' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/8918269237357077116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/8918269237357077116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/12/o-raza-de-optimism-pentru-fetele-mele.html' title='O raza de optimism'/><author><name>Dee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14647746120264192726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fKs0yW8qbU/TeJM_LxOTmI/AAAAAAAAAD4/98-jeCJdSt0/s220/SDC17927.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SykrUwlp_pI/AAAAAAAAADA/EVCEq0DO2E8/s72-c/retroooooooo+%284%29.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866205516821643281.post-4204567490791139282</id><published>2009-12-08T11:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-04-18T02:56:20.177-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rasnita de cafea</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/Sx6lVy3ps9I/AAAAAAAAAC4/BpeVJUpt2KY/s1600-h/239143963-2564708-500_500.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 258px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412945595996943314" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/Sx6lVy3ps9I/AAAAAAAAAC4/BpeVJUpt2KY/s320/239143963-2564708-500_500.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/Sx6lVmbuxqI/AAAAAAAAACw/38hCFyks41M/s1600-h/IMG_6160.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Soarele isi intindea delicat aripile-i ingalbenite catre oamenii cinstiti, sinceri si buni, dar si catre purtatorii de masti, cei pe care ii credem undeva sus, in preajma ingerilor , carora ochiului omenesc ii este imposibil sa patrunda dincolo de aparente.&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;em&gt;Cat de darnic trebuie sa fie soarele, sa ofere o noua zi plina de lumina oamenilor ipocriti, umpluti pana la limita capacitatii de cinism, oameni care ranesc sentimente pentru a-si alimenta orgoliul nemasurat, care in egoismul lor orbesc in fata faptelor care le arata ca gresesc, celor care sunt nedrepti cu cei din jur si mai ales celor care-si secatuiesc de viata,fiinte apropiate, iubitoare.&lt;/em&gt;." si iata drumul pe care gandurile Juliettei calatoreau cu viteza razelor care acum o orbeau. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Simtea durerea aceea care aparea subit instalandu-se confortabil in piept, oferindu-i o senzatie de greutate in locul in care inima se zbate.Vorbea cu muntii, cu pasarile, cu acele patratele colorate de la verde praz spre verde smarald, specifice zonelor de munte, cu tot ceea ce inseamna natura, prietena ei care o intelegea fara sa o judece, care era intotdeauna acolo pentru ea.&lt;br /&gt;Juliette vedea prin puterea dragostei asa cum Luceafarul lui Eminescu reflecta din imaginea iubitei sale, o fiinta perfecta, pura, iubitoare, demna de nemurire, dar cand masca i s-a frant, dezamagirea a biruit piedestalul atat de falnic si de pretios odinioara.Oamenii sunt falsi,fara drept de viata vesnica, fara dreptul de a li se acorda un dram de incredere.&lt;br /&gt;Pentru a-si potoli nervozitatea, vechea rasnita de cafea a familiei se lasa invartita energic de mana sa.Era un obiect ingalbenit de ani,dar de o valoare sentimentala deosebita.Era o fire mai ciudata, o purta dupa ea in momentele sale de meditatie, creandu-i o stare de liniste. Recita acum cateva dintre versurile preferate din acelasi Eminescu, mistunind-o dorinta frematatoare de a revedea vremurile de glorie ale iubirii lor, cand ea credea ca pe nimeni nu a intalnit asemeni lui. "&lt;em&gt;Tu, visul blond unui noroc ce nu e/ De-i mai veni, să ştii că nu te iert./ Căci dorul meu mustrări o să-ţi tot spuie/ Şi sărutându-te am să te cert/ Cu dezmierdări cum n-am spus nimăruie&lt;/em&gt;."&lt;br /&gt;Era singurul loc in care se regasea: volumul de poezii.Incercand sa-si aminteasca felurite versuri ravasitoare, dorinta aceea crestea in ea in fiece secunda, iar rasnita se tot invartea uluita de sute de ori.Juliette o invartea si o tot invartea in sensul invers acelor de ceasornic, imaginandu-si ca poseda gigantul ceas al intregii omeniri, ca ar putea revedea momentele in care fericirea veghea asupra ei.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Deodata, un vartej de ameteli, spasme si tulburari de vedere o cuprinsera.Timp de un minut sau doua parea ca se zbate intre doua lumi, ca intr-o tornada.Dar se trezi.Crezand ca a lesinat, isi ridica usor capul.Urechile ii tiuiau,ochii ii erau tulburi si mintea incetosata.Se intreba apoi de ce in fata ei se afla acum o imensa intindere de apa in locul falnicilor munti, de ce copacii fusesera inlocuiti cu nisip si de ce toate pasarile pareau transformate in pescarusi.Singurul care ramasese era soarele care rasarea .Umbla naucita cu rasnita strans lipita de piept.Nu mai avu timp sa se gandeasca la nimic din toate astea, caci zari doi tineri indragostiti privind peisajul de care pareau sa nu se mai sature vreodata, se sarutau, se imbratisau, se iubeau, erau fericiti...erau EI. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Juliette se privi cum zambea ametita de o raza sau poate de prezenta lui. Nu-si mai amintea ultimul sau suras.Inchise din nou ochii, lasandu-si rasnita de cafea sa o conduca pe aripile timpului. Rezavu fiece moment de multumire sufleteasca pe care il petreceau misteriosii tineri.Cuvinte de iubire, de incurajare, fapte mici,dar de o importanta imensa, o prietenie solida, de neclintit, fara pic de nemultumiri si ostilitati.Le revazu pe toate...erau acolo..in trecut, adormite pentru totdeauna.&lt;br /&gt;Apoi, se vazu dintr-o data sarutand, dezmierdand, iubind : o masca.Pentru prima data in calatoria sa ciudata, se vazu indurerata, varsand lacrimi amare.Se zbatea sa vada prin puterea ratiunii, dar sentimentele o orbeau .Juliette cea din prezent era capabila sa vada totul prin puterea mintii, sa vada cum el se schimba construindu-si mii de fete.Cea din trecut, insa era mult prea slaba sa accepte ciudata intorsatura a lucrurilor.In momentele de cumpana, el dovedea doar indiferenta, neincredere, egoism si ipocrizie.&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;em&gt;Cum am putut fi atat de oarba?!Ar fi trebuit sa fi stiut ca langa mine nu se afla decat un om ca oricare altul, nicidecum o fiinta simtitoare, care sa stie ce simt in orice moment, care ar face mici eforturi pentru fericirea mea, care ar sti sa-mi rasplateasca mahnirea.Ma aflam langa un vrajitor care din cand in cand isi rasucea bagheta blocandu-mi calea catre rationament.&lt;/em&gt;" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Cugeta privindu-se din nou pe ea asa cum nimeni nu ar fi putut sa o vada vreodata: incercand sa-si construiasca la randul ei o masca, sa para puternica si nepasatoare.Numai sagetile din inima se impotriveau cu desavarsire, impungand-o cu rautate, dezvaluindu-i adevaratul chip palid si obosit de numeroase critici primite de la omul care ar fi trebuit sa fie primul care-i descopera sensibilitatea, dar care de fapt nu a stiut niciodata sa vada in spatele exteriorului.Pentru ca nu era decat un "sclav al obisnuintei' , inghitit de moravurile societatii moderne condusa de instincte primare,nimic profund, nimic care sa ofere placere spirituala, ci doar vesnica rutina de care oamenii au uitat sa se detaseze.&lt;br /&gt;Acum ca vazuse adevarata fata lucrurilor,calatoria ei devenise un cosmar.Trebuia sa se trezeasca si sa se intoarca in prezentul la fel de dureros, dar peste care batranul timp si-a pus amprenta.Le lasa din nou prada ametitoarei miscari de rotatie, trezindu-se buimaca intre munti.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"..Prezent mult iubit, m-am intors!Oh, si ce fericire ma incearca!Prin vis am vazut in sfarsit, clar si fara urma de incertitudine, adevaratele suflete ce se ascund in spatele chipurilor care-ti incanta privirea&lt;/em&gt;..."&lt;br /&gt;Revenindu-si din tulburare, Juliette privi in juru-i. Lumina era aceeasi, soarele inca nu urcase indeajuns.Isi privi ceasul: arata aceeasi ora, aceeasi data,ca in clipa in care cazuse in trecut. Era acelasi rasarit...&lt;br /&gt;　&lt;br /&gt;　&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4866205516821643281-4204567490791139282?l=peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/feeds/4204567490791139282/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/12/rasnita-de-cafea.html#comment-form' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/4204567490791139282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/4204567490791139282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/12/rasnita-de-cafea.html' title='Rasnita de cafea'/><author><name>Dee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14647746120264192726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fKs0yW8qbU/TeJM_LxOTmI/AAAAAAAAAD4/98-jeCJdSt0/s220/SDC17927.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/Sx6lVy3ps9I/AAAAAAAAAC4/BpeVJUpt2KY/s72-c/239143963-2564708-500_500.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866205516821643281.post-1948716295170219491</id><published>2009-12-06T08:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-06T08:56:20.931-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Articol - Relatii serioase? Sau legaturi amoroase intamplatoare?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SxviInad0eI/AAAAAAAAACo/Qye4hCPSWsc/s1600-h/news-20091030-09310231-1821714181.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412168014862602722" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SxviInad0eI/AAAAAAAAACo/Qye4hCPSWsc/s320/news-20091030-09310231-1821714181.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Poate ca la prima vedere vi s -ar parea o problema strict adolescentina, dar daca veti cugeta un moment asupra ei, veti descoperi poate ca la un momentdat ati trecut printr-una dintre situatiile ce urmeaza, la o varsta nu tocmai frageda.&lt;br /&gt;Reprezentantii sexului masculin, vad in orice femeie o posibila partenera.De scurt timp, insa."Rivalele" acestora, se pare ca ravnesc la un Fat-Frumos fara urma de cusur cu care sa-si imparta atat momentele fericite cat si cele nefericite pentru tot restul vietii."Nu inteleg, ce isi doreste de fapt?Acum ma doreste, peste cinci minute se poarta intocmai ca un necunoscut.Gresesc eu cu ceva?" Numai un barbat ar putea-o lamuri pe prietena mea.&lt;br /&gt;Suntem capabili sa ne daruim trup si suflet unei singure persoane?Sau vibratiile simtite in urma unei aventuri ne trezesc un interes mai viu?&lt;br /&gt;"Nu inteleg de ce trebuie sa ma abtin de la placerea de a cunoaste fete noi.Mi-ar fi parut enorm de rau daca as fi lasat anii adolescentei mele sa treaca monotoni pe langa mine, in timp ce eu sa fi fost un fidel convins.Desigur, si relatiile serioase au avantajele lor, dar nimic nu se compara cu freamatul oferit de noile inceputuri , intotdeauna alaturi de o persoana diferita." Iata afirmatia unui adevarat Don Juan.&lt;br /&gt;Intr-o lume ca a noastra monogamia nu mai este considerata&lt;em&gt; à la mode&lt;/em&gt; , numai ca la capitolul acesta, o multime de femei au ramas inchistate in traditii.Nu-i nimic, ne vom emancipa si la acest capitol.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4866205516821643281-1948716295170219491?l=peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/feeds/1948716295170219491/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/12/articol-relatii-serioase-sau-legaturi.html#comment-form' title='1 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/1948716295170219491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/1948716295170219491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/12/articol-relatii-serioase-sau-legaturi.html' title='Articol - Relatii serioase? Sau legaturi amoroase intamplatoare?'/><author><name>Dee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14647746120264192726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fKs0yW8qbU/TeJM_LxOTmI/AAAAAAAAAD4/98-jeCJdSt0/s220/SDC17927.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SxviInad0eI/AAAAAAAAACo/Qye4hCPSWsc/s72-c/news-20091030-09310231-1821714181.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866205516821643281.post-1012944192053840453</id><published>2009-10-04T14:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-07T06:26:13.030-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Femeie sau Fiara?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SskTuYrMSGI/AAAAAAAAAB4/ZLWcOpxj9bM/s1600-h/IMG_0041.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 134px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388860116744030306" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SskTuYrMSGI/AAAAAAAAAB4/ZLWcOpxj9bM/s200/IMG_0041.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Binecuvantata noapte, atat de linistita si de departe de zilele agitate si  neplacute, zile in care visele si sperantele nu sunt altceva decat pure iluzii.   Suzanne se plimba ca o naluca prin casa intunecata, cufundata in liniste si disperare.Lacrimile ii siroiau nestingherite pe obrajii palizi.Erau lacrimi amare si fierbinti.Se simtea slabita, aproape lesinata, corpul ei subtire invelit intr-o rochie usoara de vara parea ca in orice secunda se va prabusi,iar mintea ei va cadea intr-un somn adanc,adanc , departe de oamenii falsi care intotdeauna au ranit-o prin ipocrizia lor.Simtea la propriu durerea cauzata de sufletul ranit.O senzatie greu de explicat , dar totusi care exista.Ii era ataat de dor de ei, de ei doi care in realitate erau unul singur.Unde sunt saruturile, mangaierile, atingerile stangace de inceput, zambetele.... Unde e marea dragoste ce-i unea?Oare unde s-au ascuns toate?Cine era in spatele lor?Se afla cu fruntea lipita de geam in lumina albastruie a zorilor.Cand soarele abia ridica o geana din spatele delurilor stravezii, gandurile lui Suzanne inca hoinareau pe taramuri nebanuite.Cu o imaginatie care tradeaza nebunia, cugetul sau desena o varietate de scenaii bizare.Se simtea ca intr-una din piesele ei de teatru, numai ca de data aceasta, nu mai era necesara transpunerea in psihicul personajului interpretat.Acel personaj era intocmai ea...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Zece ani mai tarziu,o somptuoasa masina, parca pe straduta linistita a micului oras.O tanara doamna, in varsta de douazeci si opt de ani, cobora gratios inaltandu-se pe tocurile asemanatoare unui zgarie nori.In acea perioada din anii '20 cand lumea a fost invadata de femei cu o puternica personalitate care devenisera independente, isi conduceau propriile masini, imprumutau stilul hainelor masculine, fiind feminine si in acelasi timp libere prin simplitatea oferita de tinutele lor, cand isi petreceau serile in cluburi de jazz sau bucurandu-se de dansuri energice fara teama ca vor fi aspru judecate, in acea perioada infloritoare pentru toate femeile din lume, Suzanne avusese sansa sa creasca si sa devina o femeie de un succes rasunator.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Se privea in vechea sa oglinda din apartamentul micut in care locuise inainte de plecarea la Viena.Se schimbase enorm de mult.Din adolescenta obedienta ale carei simtaminte erau usor persecutate, o deosebita actrita aflata intr-o continua obscuritate, poza acum intr-o femeie cu trasaturi puternice dar totusi gratioase, o privire elocventa si patrunzatoare care-i servea in arta de a citi in sufeltele si in mintile celorlalti.Vechile sale haine erau transformate intr-o tinuta sic formata dintr-o rochie mulata din jerseau de lana,neagra,scurta si fara maneci, decorata doar cu cateva linii diagonale.Perlele albe ii inconjurau gatul subtire si lung in timp ce tunsoarea stil "garcon" ii oferea un aspect de tinerete si vitalitate .Numeroasele oportunitati ivite gratie talentlui sau au transformat-o treptat in una dintre cele mai puternice si mai frumoase femei din acea vreme.Milioane de barbati o idolatrizau si o doreau cu inflacarare,insa ea nu facea decat sa le dea sperante desarte, bucurandu-se apoi , razand diabolic si sorbind sampanie frantuzeasca, de suferinta cauzata si de intensitatea sentimentelor sadite in umilele suflete nimicite poate pentru totdeauna.Era tipul femeii fatale, de o uimitoare finete , eleganta si valoare estetica,iluzorie si neinduratoare..in asa fel incat oricine i-ar cadea in ghearele-i ascutite. Era o zi mult prea rece pentru acea perioada a anului.Suzanne analiza prin ochii sai sticlosi, peisajul oferit de cochetul restaurant parizian in care avea obiceiul sa mearga atunci cand simtea nevoiea acuta de a reflecta asupra vietii sale.Un barbat inalt cu o figura placuta se aseza pe locul din fata ei.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Ce doresti?tonul sau era unul neutru fara a-si muta macar privirea spre el&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-V-am vazut de la distanta..imi pareati cunoscuta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Am mai auzit replici asemanatoare.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Sunteti foarte frumoasa, pareti chiar dintr-o alta lume..as putea sa va stiu numele?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Crezi?!intreba ea pierduta..Chiar crezi ca nu fac partea din lumea asta?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Dupa infatisare, asa s-ar parea, ramane sa aflu daca sufletul va apartine acestei lumi sau nu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Suzanne, rosti indreptandu-si in sfarsit privirea spre partenerul de discutie.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Nicolas, &lt;i&gt;Enchante&lt;/i&gt;! si-i saruta mana invelita intr-o manusa de matase. Suzanne se simtea debusolata.Cine era barbatul acela care avea o figura atat de cunoscuta ei?tacea, privindu-l ingandurata, apoi,intalnindu-i ochii a avut o revelatie .Era ultimul barbat care indraznise sa o raneasca pentru ultima data.Era ultima ei dragoste .&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-S-a intamplat ceva, Suzanne?te simti bine?o intreba tutuind-o.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Sunt bine, spuse iesind brusc din reverie.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Pot sa va cumpar ceva de baut? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Se sfarsise.La fel ca toti ceilalti,Nicolas ii cazuse in mreje inca din primele minute.Din acel moment , Suzanne avea puteri depline asupra lui, iar ea o stia limpede.Deschise usor buzele-i pline si rosii care tradau o senzualitate inzestrata cu o mare putere de patrundere :&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Un &lt;i&gt;Chocolate Martini &lt;/i&gt;ar fi desavarsit.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Suzanne isi privea bucuroasa cea mai ravnita "prada" si din nou nu era vorba doar de o noua poseta.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Nicolas o conduse acasa, purtandu-se ca un gentleman pana in ultima clipa, fara sa incerce sa o sarute macar, cerandu-i insa o a doua intalnire.Suzanne accepta urmarindu-si necrutatoare scopul. Soarele apunea alene vopsind cu mana de pictor, norii in nuante aramii.Raspandea o lumina slaba asupra chipului palid al Suzannei dandu-i o umbra de culoare in obraji.Privea fix intr-un punct din orizont cu gandurile intr-un loc indepartat de lume, asa cum obisnuia inca din copilarie.Gandurile ei erau dintre cele mai ciudate, se gandea "cum ar fi fost daca...sau daca...si daca totusi as fi..." Si-ar fi dorit o altfel de viata , intr -o lume potrivita ei, o lume in care sa fi fost inconjurata numai de oameni iubitori, buni, drepti si iertatori.Consecinta dedusa dintr-o serie de argumente si constatari, era ca lumea pe care o visa , nu se gasea decat in inchipuirea ei.Se simtea ca o regina , plina de virtuti netulburate de vreun cusur,care-si privea cu mila supusii , oameni simplii si plini de defecte care-si ocupau timpul cu activitati dintre cele mai necinstite, se urau si se infruntau pentru drepturi supreme care de fapt, erau inexistente.Si cum o regina nu s-ar amesteca printre supusii sai., nici Suzanne nu-si avea locul in aceasta mare societate reprezentata de intreaga omenire. Continuau sa se intalneasca zilnic, fiecare incercand sa afle cat mai multe unul despre celalalt, avand insa, scopuri total diferite.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Esti sau ai fost casatorita?intrebarea o luase prin surpindere fara a avea ca de obicei un raspuns pregatit dinainte.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Nu..niciodata. Tulburarea i se citea in glas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Nici macar indragostita?stii tu..prima si cea mai mare dragoste, forta el nota.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;"&lt;i&gt;Cum se face ca nu ma recunoaste?m am schimbat oare, atat de mult?"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Am fost...acum insa, prefer ca barbatilor sa le fie teama in preajma mea, numai ca ei se indragostesc, suporta consecintele apoi intervine teama, sau chiar ura in ceea ce ma priveste.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Ii prinse mana intre alea lui, sarutandui-o.Acest gest tandru avu ca efect o furtuna de emotii puternice, care mai de care mai deosebite.isi retrase brusc mana , ingrozita.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Sa n-o mai faci! Suzanne se afla in starea aceea lenesa dintre realitate si taramul care duce spre moarte, pe care oamenii obisnuiti il numesc somn.Retraia evenimentele din acea zi prin puterea mintii.Felurite imagini ale lucrurilor,persoanelor, locurilor pe care le vazuse in acea zi i se perinadau acum prin minte asemenea miilor de modele pe care le vazuse in prezentarile de moda.Dar cel mai conturat chip , pe care creierul sau punea cu incapatanare accent, era cel al lui Nicolas.Trasturile lui putenice,ochii sai negri care-ti acaparau privirea, parul niciodara aranjat dar totusi chic, pe toate acestea i le reproducea subconstientul sau dupa bunul plac.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Trecuse o saptamana fara ca ea sa-i mai acorde vreo intalnire, ii oferi in cele din urma, in schimb, o invitatie la cea mai recenta piesa de teatru in care urma sa joace rolul princiipal. Suzanne se afla pe scaunul din fata oglinzii privindu-si chipu-i umbrit de amintiri acunse intr-un cotlon indepartat al mintii sale.Retraia vermurile in care studenta fiind , lumea i se parea un cufar in care intotdeauna avea o comoara de descoperit., Nicolas era una dintre ele.Isi amintea nenumaratele seri petrecute impreuna,de escapadele in locuri feerice stiute doar de ei doi, de gustarile cu care el o rasfata deseori si miile de saruturi cu care ea ii multumea.Insa toate acestea se aflau acum atat de departe de parca nici nu ar fi existat, "&lt;i&gt;simple copilarii"&lt;/i&gt;isi spuse zambind cu nostalgie.Fara indoiala ca acele "simple copilarii" o faceau peste masura de fericita.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-5 minute si incepem!tresari ca trezita dintr-un vis senin.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Se ridica aranjandu si palaria cu pene si rochia bogata in cascade de matase si dantela in stilul anilor 1900.Aproape ca nu respira din cauza stransurii corsetului, element obligatoriu al garderobei feminine din acele timpuri.Talia de viespe a doamnei Jivago, personajul interpretat in piesa, era foarte bine pusa in evidenta datorita supradimensionarii umerilor. "Doamna Jivago" aparu din spatele cortinei intampinata de un ropot de aplauze.Incepu prin rostirea unui monolog despre importanta vietii si a fericirii, a amintirilor frumoase si a iubirii .Incheie printr-o propozitie scurta menita sa impresioneze auzul celor din public.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Oh,mi e dor de tine, dor de noi!Chiar daca rolul nu i-o cerea, Suzanne nu putu sa-si reprime lacrimile.Si-atunci el ii auzi melodiosul geamat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Imediat ce cortina anunta sfarsitul, Nicolas se indrepta cu pasi repezi spre culise.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Felicitari, a fost fantastic,un adevarat succes!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Cu toate ca ajunsese sa i fie indiferente astfel de complimente primite atat de des, un zamabet ii flutura ca o adiere pe buzele fierbinti.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;-Iti multumesc ca ai venit, Nicolas!Si acum.."Adio! spuse fluturand mana-i de crin".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Usa se inchise in urma ei la fel si ultima lui sansa de a-i spune ca nu a uitat-o,ca stie ca este Suzanne, Suzanne a lui.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Mergea spre casa pe strada cufundata in liniste si semintuneric.Tulburata peste masura de reaparitia lui Nicolas reflecta acum asupra persoanei care fusese:calda, vesela, mereu dispusa sa-si ofere ajutorul , si a persoanei care devenise:dura, necrutatoare,nepasatoare fata de problemele celorlalti.Comparndu-le, isi dadu seama ca ajunsese la stadiul in care era secata de viata.Nu-si mai gasea rostul , oamenii i se pareau atat de banali, de simpli incat ea simtea ca nu mai apartine nici unui loc de pe fata Pamantului.Ajunsa in sfarsit acasa,era obosita, foarte obosita si nu din cauza drumului sau a piesei ci din cauza vietii.Obosise sa mai traiasca.Se intinse pe patul moale intre pernele invelite in matase lasandu-si sangele sa i se scurga din corpul fara vlaga.Lacrimi de disperare si valuri de bucurie ii strabateau intregul corp apropae inert pe care fire subtiri de sange il paraseau cu repeziciune.Se simtea in sfarsit eliberata dintr-o lume plina de comtroverse.Si era bine..pentru prima oara de mult timp..se simtea excelent.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Nicolas, nimicit si el de ganduri si amintiri,incerca disperat sa o sune,insa telefonul ei era la fel de mort ca si ea.O cauta in vechiul ei apartament.Si o gasi.Trupul ii zacea fara viata pe patul plin de sangele inca proaspat.Peisajul l-a stupefiat.O disperare ascutita il strapunse ca o sulita.Se pare ca ea simtise ca va veni, ca o va cauta in cele din urma.Ca dovada , statea hartiuta alba inundata de sange pe care tronau cuvintele:"Nu uita s -o lasi in inima ta!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4866205516821643281-1012944192053840453?l=peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/feeds/1012944192053840453/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/10/femeie-sau-fiara.html#comment-form' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/1012944192053840453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/1012944192053840453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/10/femeie-sau-fiara.html' title='Femeie sau Fiara?'/><author><name>Dee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14647746120264192726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fKs0yW8qbU/TeJM_LxOTmI/AAAAAAAAAD4/98-jeCJdSt0/s220/SDC17927.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SskTuYrMSGI/AAAAAAAAAB4/ZLWcOpxj9bM/s72-c/IMG_0041.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866205516821643281.post-6458864660234043894</id><published>2009-06-03T09:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T09:44:48.622-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oferiti Dragoste si Afectiune !</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SiaobUsFRrI/AAAAAAAAABo/lV84yxmPgL4/s1600-h/copii-maltratatimg-15982.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343143195285210802" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 189px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SiaobUsFRrI/AAAAAAAAABo/lV84yxmPgL4/s200/copii-maltratatimg-15982.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Nu rar mi s-a intamplat ca pe strada ori la televizor sa aud de diferite cazuri de maltratare a copiilor de orice varsta.Aproape in fiecare zi, imi este dat sa aud strigăte, lacrimi, vorbe urîte…toate acestea petrecute între o mamă şi odrasla sa.Aud cum mama strigă, înjură propriul copil. O scenă ruptă dintr-un film de groază?? Nu, realitatea din jur. De fapt, nimic nou în zilele noastre, astfel de cazuri chiar mai tragice se întîmplă zi de zi, oriunde şi oricînd, implicînd orice tip de actori, actori ce deviază de la meseria propriu-zisă, neţinînd cont de norme şi reguli; de ce părinţii, educatorii, cred ca au dreptul să abuzeze de copii, cine le insuflă acest drept, de unde vine supremaţia negativă? Cîteodată încerc să ghicesc de ce doamna respectivă se comportă aşa? are ea vreun motiv sa facă ceea ce face, sau dintr-un reflex condiţionat prost format.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Aceşti copii suportă cruzimea, bătaia, dar în ochi li se citeşte "Nu striga, nu lovi cu vorbe urîte, am nevoie de dragoste şi afecţiune!"&lt;br /&gt;Copiii sunt maltratati de diferite persoane, nu numai de parinti si sub diferite moduri:neglijare, abandon, abuz fizic si psihic.&lt;br /&gt;Imi este imposibil sa inteleg de ce unii oamenii, mai nou, majoritatea oamenilor sunt de parere ca violenta este prima in topul modurilor de educare a copiilor.Poate ca le sunt tutori, poate ca le sunt dascali, poate ca este slujba lor sa ii ingrijeasca -si aici ma refer la asistentii maternali- dar tot nu au acest drept asupra lor.Copiii sunt fiintele cele mai lipsite de aparare, cei care indura tratamentele adultilor insa fara a sadi in inima lor, pic de ura fata de acestia.Vorba aceea:"eu te am facut, eu te omor".Din pacate multi oameni tind sa creada ca au drepturi supreme asupra odraslelor sale.Total gresit.Nimeni nu are drepturi supreme asupra copiilor sau a oricarei alte persoane, decat Dumnezeu care ne trimite cel mai de pret dar:copilul.Acel pui de om care stii ca este sange din sangele tau si pe care trebuie sa-l pretuiesti , sa-l iubesti si sa-l ocrotesti chiar si cu pretul vietii.Nu sa-i aplici tratamente dintre cele mai crude, doar asa, pentru ca il consideri o greseala sau pentru ca pur si simplu nu te intereseaza sau chiar te scoate din sarite.&lt;br /&gt;Imi amintesc o groaznica imagine de la televizor, care probabil imi va ramane in minte pentru totdeauna.Copii care sufereau de boli incurabile, dezbracati, infometati si infrigurati, inchisi intr o incapere intunecoasa in care sa aflau doar niste paturi fara saltele.Acei copii -probabil fara parinti- erau lasati sa moara in conditii greu de imaginat.Sunt o multime de cazuri absolut scandaloase care ma impresioneaza in mod total neplacut, de fiecare data.Plus ca mai exista si abuzuri sexuale care deasemena sunt foarte grave deoarece o asemenea experienta lasa aprente grave pana si asupra adultilor.Nici nu se pune problema ca o experienta de genul acesta,suferita in copilarie, poate avea urmari mult mai grave asupra micutilor nestiutori si inocenti.&lt;br /&gt;Si totusi ce se poate face pentru acesti copii?Cum pot oamenii sufletisti sa ii ajute?Ce ar fi mai bine pentru ei şi cine ar trebui să fie judecat pentru suferinţa lor? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4866205516821643281-6458864660234043894?l=peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/feeds/6458864660234043894/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/06/oferiti-dragoste-si-afectiune.html#comment-form' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/6458864660234043894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/6458864660234043894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/06/oferiti-dragoste-si-afectiune.html' title='Oferiti Dragoste si Afectiune !'/><author><name>Dee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14647746120264192726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fKs0yW8qbU/TeJM_LxOTmI/AAAAAAAAAD4/98-jeCJdSt0/s220/SDC17927.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SiaobUsFRrI/AAAAAAAAABo/lV84yxmPgL4/s72-c/copii-maltratatimg-15982.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866205516821643281.post-5172584620310072542</id><published>2009-05-15T08:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T15:35:45.536-07:00</updated><title type='text'>O dragoste si-o melodie</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/Sg2Q6yt6t6I/AAAAAAAAABg/ezFW1FHP9h4/s1600-h/Chord_by_Clara31.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 182px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/Sg2Q6yt6t6I/AAAAAAAAABg/ezFW1FHP9h4/s200/Chord_by_Clara31.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336080473225082786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;Ploua.Ce miros imbatator ii intra subtil pe geam.Un miros atat de placut si de proaspat care ii amintea lui Linette de scaparile ei nastrusnice din adolescenta cand fugea cat mai departe de ochii lumii pe cararile ploii de vara.Nu ii pasa de apa care o invada pana  la piele si care ii inunda tenisii.Nu ii pasa nici ca s ar putea imbolnavi.Nu si dorea decat sa se dezlantuie impinsa de furiile specifice varstei, odata cu ploaia.Picaturile loveau puternic geamul, copacii , strazile, torcand ca o pisica.Linette asculta cu gandurile la timpuri de mult trecute, cazuta in mireasma  ploii.O simtea aproape ca pe o fiinta apropiata ei, ca pe o prietena veche . "Ploaia..ea mi l-a adus pe Lorenzo si odata cu el fericirea netarmurita.. dar tot ea mi l-a si luat cand viata devenise incrustata in trandafiri si vise " se confesa ea picaturilor repezi ce cadeau cu nemiluita.Ploaia i-l luase pentru totdeauna in urma unei furtuni devastatoare care facuse ca masina lui sa demareze exact in ziua in care urma sa se casatoreasca.Trupul lui disparuse pe taramuri  nebanuite de nimeni.Dar pentru Linette era mai bine asa.Ultima imagine a  chipului celui iubit nu mai avea cum sa fie cea a unui om rece, lipsit de orice urma de viata.Chipul lui Lorenzo ii stralucea si acum in suflet la fel de puternic.Trasaturile lui fine ca de fata,gura mica si ochii de smarald plini de viata si iubire ii inveleau deseori  gandurile facand-o sa-si piarda mintile.Vorbea cu el in fiecare zi, saruta rodul imaginatiei sale, ii povestea despre viata ei, radea impreuna cu inchipuirea ei.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt; Acum se afla din nou intr-una din escapadele sale de mult uitate.Simtise din nou nevoia aceea acerba sa evadeze intr-o lumea pe care doar ea o cunostea si in care se simtea acasa.Si iat-o pe vechea bancuta din fata marii linistite care se unduia in valuri mici, cu vechea ei rochita discret inflorata care-i invelea trupul gingas si pur.O fata..o simpla fata care  parea sa astepte   cu o dorinta arzatoare, pe cineva drag, cufundata in lumina tandra a apusului ce  invaluia incet, incet imprejurimile.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-E magica dragostea ta pentru mine, Linette, e chiar mai mult decat pot primi !&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;- Da Lorenzo ! Te Iubesc asa cum ti-am promis.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-E greu de crezut ca o femeie ca tine poate iubi unul ca mine&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt; -Dar ce sunt eu , Lorenzo?De ce nu crezi in iubirea ce ti-o port?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-Cred.Numai ca ma faci atat de fericit prin simpla ta prezenta incat nu mi vine a crede ca inima ta este lacasul meu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-Uneori imi este frica de atata fericire.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-N-ai de ce."Fericirea sau nefericirea oamenilor este în mare parte opera lor."il cita el pe John Locke&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;Ii cuprinse talia subtire in mainile sale  puternice  invartindu-se ca un titirez apoi ii saruta usor buzele naturale si moi.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Ce-ai zice daca mi-ai canta  melodia noastra?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;Isi aminti cum accepta bucuroasa.Toate astea i se derulasera in minte in ultima jumatate de ora in care privise cu ochii inotand in lacrimi spre marea de acum mai agitata.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;  Era pasionata de pian.Talentul ii era innascut, insa niciodata nu a lasat ochii lumii sa patrunda dincolo de fata obisnuita care parea.Ii placea sa cante numai pentru Lorenzo care ii inflorea inima de artist prin caldura aprobarii si aprecierii si chiar prin stralucirea admiratiei.In ziua aceea degetele ii alergasera pe clapele pianului pe ritmul melodiei Strumentale de Richard Clayderman.Era melodia care le incanta auzul si le mangaia inimile de intragostiti de fiecare data cand o ascultau.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;Cand seara isi cobora aripile peste intreg tinutul, Linette ,se indrepta cu pasi marunti spre restaurantul in care obisnuia sa cante .Pianul o astepta cuminte ca in fiecare seara cu trandafirii rosii ca focul odihnindu-se pe el.Deschise usor clapa si incerca sa cante.In mintea ei, insa nu derula decat melodia "Strumentale".Un dor cumplit o cuprinse de melodia aceea pe care nu o mai cantase de la moartea lui.De patru ani incheiati. "Nu.Nu o  s-o cant -  hotari ea- imi este de ajuns atata suferinta.Mintea mea si asa bolnava, nu va mai tine deloc seama de drum."  Cantase in schimb alte melodii frumoase.Cantase cu atata devotament cum nu o mai facuse decat in vremurile bune.Oamenii din jur, placut impresionati, o aplaudau cu frenezie.Privindu-i , se simtea multumita si apreciata.Privirea ei zabovise asupra unui tanar din multime care aplauda cu acelasi entuziasm.I se parea ca ii aminteste de cineva incredibil de cunoscut. Se indrepta spre el parca hipnotizata.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-Domnisoara, felicitari, ati fost mai mult decat grozava! o aborda el.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;Ea il privea  absenta.Zambetul ala, stralucirea si culoarea ochilor, buzele pline...de cine ii aminteau toate astea?timp de o secunda si jumatate, imagini care-l infatisau pe  Lorenzo ii fugeau prin minte cu o viteza remarcabila.Impinsa de impulsul de moment, fara ca mintea ei obosita sa mai gandeasca rational, isi arunca bratele in jurul gatului tanarului care o privea supefiat.Linette incepu sa planga in hohote strigand neintrerupt:"Lorenzo, iubitul meu, o, Lorenzo unde ai fost in tot acest timp?De ce nu ai raspuns chemarilor mele disperate?De ce,Iubire?".Baiatul o indeparta usor de el privindu-i fata scaldata in lacrimi.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-Va rog frumos sa va controlati.Eu nu sunt Lorenzo.Poate m-ati confundat, linistiti-va.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;Dar cum putea ea oare sa-l confunde?Cum putea sa-i uite infatisarea purtata cu nesat in suflet?"Poate ca nu mai judec asa cum ar trebui.Lorenzo e mort, iar eu nu pot face nimic sa-l aduc inapoi.Nimic !"gandea ea in timp ce-si ocupa din nou locul pe scaunul din fata pianului.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-O s-o cant ! spuse ea ca pentru sine.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;Imediat notele melodiei tanguitoare, inundau restaurantul si totodata intreaga fiinta a tanarului misterios.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-Melodia asta...de ce-mi este atat de cunoscuta?&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se lasa purtat de melodie pana la capat.Apoi, se apropie de tanara interpreta rugand-o staruitor s-o mai cante o data.Degetele ei executau aceleasi manevre ca si cu cinci minute in urma apasand viguros clapele.Tanarul o privea cum canta.Ii privea corpul si parul care ii erau neschiumbate.Suferinta ii imbatranise putin chipul, dar era la fel de frumoasa.Si atunci, cu sunetele inflacarate ale melodiei napadindu-i urechile,  Lorenzo isi dadu seama cine era el de fapt si mai ales, cine era EA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-Linette, tu esti !&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-Lorenzo?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-Da iubita mea, eu sunt.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;Inaltatoare sentimente de dragoste, dor  si fericire se revarsau asupra lor ca niste fulgere.Printre imbratisari, zambete si suspine se desluseau mii de intrebari si nelamuriri.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Unde ai fost toti anii astia?Cu totii te-am crezut mort !&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-De la accidentul din ziua nuntii noastre, mintea mea a ratacit departe de lumea in care traisem.Am suferit de amnezie, dar acum imi amintesc totul, absolut totul.Imi amintesc de tine, de iubirea noastra, de accident si de tot ce am trait pana acum.Si asta numai datorita tie, iubito!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-Ma bucur atat de tare ca te-am gasit! nici nu ai idee prin cate am trecut ! Suferinta pricinuita de accidentul tau m a adus aproape de pragul nebuniei.Vorbeam cu tine, iti trimiteam scrisori, te asteptam cu drag si neputinta in fata marii si a pianului care erau singurele mele alinari.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-Tu nu meritai atat de multa suferinta ! In timp ce eu imi continuam viata departe de tine cu mintea stearsa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-Toata suferinta mea a meritat!Acum fericirea noastra va fi netarmurita.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;-Nu o sa te mai parasesc niciodata!orice s-ar intampla!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;Imaginatia nu juca feste nici unuia dintre ei.Dragostea lor era din nou vie, de parca pana atunci timpul ar fi stat pe loc.Acum stiau ca fericirea isi are originea in suferinta, si, oricat de mult am dori sa traim numai in fericire, este absolut imposibil.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4866205516821643281-5172584620310072542?l=peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/feeds/5172584620310072542/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/05/o-dragoste-si-o-melodie.html#comment-form' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/5172584620310072542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/5172584620310072542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/05/o-dragoste-si-o-melodie.html' title='O dragoste si-o melodie'/><author><name>Dee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14647746120264192726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fKs0yW8qbU/TeJM_LxOTmI/AAAAAAAAAD4/98-jeCJdSt0/s220/SDC17927.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/Sg2Q6yt6t6I/AAAAAAAAABg/ezFW1FHP9h4/s72-c/Chord_by_Clara31.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866205516821643281.post-276024009069567253</id><published>2009-05-07T11:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-07T11:38:24.836-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Femeile</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SgMpPtn97dI/AAAAAAAAABQ/eB6uQeWLu7s/s1600-h/Dance_by_Rilrae%5B2%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SgMpPtn97dI/AAAAAAAAABQ/eB6uQeWLu7s/s200/Dance_by_Rilrae%5B2%5D.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333151733658807762" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;V-ati gandit vreodata de ce femeile sunt deseori tratate cu superioritate de catre barbati ?De ce ele trebuie sa sufere cel mai mult chinuite in fiecare luna de dureri  pentru ca mai apoi sa aduca pruncii pe lume cu riscul de a-si da pana si viata?Si pe langa toate astea, ele indura cu stoicism toate injuriile aduse de catre barbati.Oare la ce va ganditi cand le loviti ca niste brute, cand le strigati cuvinte grele si dureroase, acestor fiinte fragile care va poarta de grija si va ocrotesc  in orice circumstante.Le rapiti inocenta, le rapiti gandurile, le rapiti inimile apoi le aruncati impasibili ca pe niste obiecte plictisitoare.Cu toate acestea, femeile va raman mereu alaturi pentru a va creste in continuare cu truda, pruncii.Desigur, nu toate femeile sunt devotate, dar cu siguranta ceva din viata prea dura pentru gingasia lor, le-a determinat sa urmeze drumul pierzaniei.Nu le judecati,nu le jigniti caci singure isi vor da seama de greselile comise.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;   Nu putine sunt cazurile in care femeile sunt sclavele barbatilor, acestia avand chiar si dreptul de a decide  daca ele  sa mai traiasca sau nu.Cine le da acest drept suprem barbatilor care nu stiu decat sa abuzeze in toate felurile posibile ?Doar pentru ca sunt mai puternici, nu inseana ca ne sunt superiori ! In ziua de azi, femeile muncesc cot la cot cu barbatii.Cei doi, ajung impreuna acasa, barbatul se relaxeaza , iar femeia incepe sa gateasca, sa ingrijeasca locuinta si copiii.Dar oare ele nu au dreptul la odihna?Treburile gospodaresti nu ar trebui impartite cu partenerul de viata?Bineinteles ca da, insa femeile din lumea intreaga, obisnuiesc sa se inchida in ele insele, constiente ca barbatii adevarati sunt foarte putini&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt; Barbati din lumea intreaga:Iubiti-le, ocrotiti-le, ajutati-le , iar cand va ganditi sa le loviti,ganditi va mai intai ca voi ati fost inzestrati de la natura cu mai multa putere decat ele.Cand cuvintele urate va vin la gura, ganditi va ca ele sunt mamele copiilor vostrii, ca datorita lor aveti o familie.Face-ti-le sa zambeasca tot timpul, pentru ca merita si la urma urmei, cand este  o femeie mai frumoasa?Nu cumva ... cand zambeste?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4866205516821643281-276024009069567253?l=peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/feeds/276024009069567253/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/05/femeile.html#comment-form' title='1 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/276024009069567253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/276024009069567253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/05/femeile.html' title='Femeile'/><author><name>Dee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14647746120264192726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fKs0yW8qbU/TeJM_LxOTmI/AAAAAAAAAD4/98-jeCJdSt0/s220/SDC17927.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SgMpPtn97dI/AAAAAAAAABQ/eB6uQeWLu7s/s72-c/Dance_by_Rilrae%5B2%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866205516821643281.post-5007663783148264475</id><published>2009-05-06T09:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T10:04:35.315-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dincolo de Aparente</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SgHDE9KCSVI/AAAAAAAAABI/VEuP0pC6Kbw/s1600-h/EhgaRT493553-02.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SgHDE9KCSVI/AAAAAAAAABI/VEuP0pC6Kbw/s200/EhgaRT493553-02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332757923686926674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;Bruno era fericit. Era fericit ca Lucille devenise in sfarsit in ziua aceea, iubita lui.O, cat asteptase acea zi.O asteptase cu nerabdarea unui copil in fata sarbatorilor de iarna .O iubise dintotdeauna , iar ea stia asta.O stia mai bine decat orice pe lume.Numai ca ea apartinea trup si suflet altcuiva.Cuiva care nu merita trupu-i de fecioara si nici sufletul care i se oglindea limpede in ochii negri si misteriosi in care nu se puteau vedea decat bucatele de oglinda sparta tot mai marut cu fiecare zi ce trecea.Bruno stia ca o sa i panseze cu gingasie  sufletul prin puterea dragostei ce i-o purta , insa vremea aceea era mai departe decat isi putea imagina.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;  Zilele treceau parca nestingherite.Ce doi formau cuplul perfect.Pareau fericiti, pareau ca si-ar da viata unul pentru celalalt.Totul parea numai lapte si miere in relatia lor.Dar aparentele inselau privirile muritorilor.Lucille isi fixase bine masca pe chipu-i frumos , o fixase in asa fel incat sa i fie imposibil sa o mai dea vreodata jos.Insa sub aceasta masca malefica se ascundeau batalii crancene cu ea insasi.Incerca sa se invinga pe sine, fara ca ratiunea  sa ii intinda  un singur deget.Dar in zadar. Inima ei era tot acolo.Pe taramul blestemat presarat cu stropi de fericire si bulgari de suferinta.In ciuda relatiei cu Bruno, inima Lucillei ii fura deseori trupul  si mintile conducandu le subtil in bratele celui pe care-l iubea cu adevarat, mai mult decat orice pe lume.Urmau minute intregi de fericire dusa la extrem.Numai atunci se simtea intreaga si implinita, atunci cand se pierdea in nestire in dulci sarutari patimase, uitand ca  Bruno inca exista undeva nestiutor ca prunc, o asteapta si o iubea fara nici un fel de limita.Intoarsa la realitate era nevoita sa plateasca inzecit pentru scurtele minute de nesabuita fericire.Constiinta isi intrase in drepturi urmarind-o pretutindeni, oriunde s ar fi ascuns.Pana si intre bratele puternice ale lui Bruno, care o coplesea in nestiinta lui  cu sarutari si vorbe alese, constiinta Lucillei  se strecura asemeni unui sarpe inveninandu i gandurile si ea plangea in liniste pentru ca el sa nu simta ceva.Vinovatia ii atarna pe umeri ca o piatra de moara.Cum putea ea sa insele un suflet ca al lui?Cum putea fi atat de nechibzuita?Ce lege a firii ii permitea sa faca asta?Nu stia raspunsul la nici una din intrebarile adresate  de ea insasi, in momentele de luciditate.Cu fiecare zi ce trecea, dorul ii crestea in suflet ca un crin cu lujer inalt, impotriva vointei sale.Dorinta de a-si revedea alesul inimii era de nestavilit.Trebuia sa se intoarca numaidecat pe aripile dragostei nemaiintalnite, sa pofite de ea la maximum, apoi sa se sfasie de durere binemeritata.Constiinta ceda tacuta locul impulsurilor de moment atat de greu de stapanit, dar totusi nu imposibil.Si atunci, Lucille pleca fara urma de sfiala, fara ca nimeni si nimic sa-i taie calea stramba pe care pasea.Si din  nou se intorcea  plina de ganduri negre si framantari obositoare.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;  In zilele ce au urmat, Lucille se simtea tot mai transformata.Ceva se petrecea cu ea.Oare nesfarsitele  incercari de a se indragosti de Bruno dadeau in sfarsit roade?Sau era numai imaginatia ei rebela? Atingerile si sarutarile lui pareau de acum  mai fierbinti, mai cutremuratoare.Vorbele lui capatau in urechile ei, sensuri mult mai profunde decat pana atunci.Cu siguranta  ca sentimentele nutrite  pentru el, se schimbaau pe zi ce trecea tot mai mult pana cand aveau sa schimbe cu desavarsire.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"&gt;  Era cald, era incredibil de cald.Se aflau ca de obicei unul in bratele celuilalt cu gandurile departe, departe.Bruno o privea cum nu o mai privise pana atunci.Lucille ii vedea foarte clar in ochi, dorinta arzatoare de a o devora chiar atunci, pe loc.Ca la un semnal, breteaua bluzitei transparente i se rostogoli incet pe umar.El ii scoase una cate una hainele.Incet.Fara graba.Pana cand nu mai ramasese nimic altceva decat un trup fragil si stralucitor , frematand de valuri de emotie la fiecare atingere, cat de mica.Fericirea pe care Lucille o cunoscuse pana atunci, nu mai insemna nimic in comparatie cu cea din acel moment.Inima ii batea sa-i sparga pieptul in fata necunoscutelor fapte ce i se derulau prin fata ochilor .Trupurile lor fierbinti , imbaiate de luimna palida lunii, au devenit unul singur. O singura persoana vibra  acum in cele doua trupuri.Privirea Lucillei o intalni pe cea a lui Bruno.Femeia din ea se trezise.Acum stia ca de atunci, in el si numai in el va gasi toata fericirea din lume.Dar constiinta intinse din nou gheara malefica spre ea.Luciile sopti sugrumata de nodul din gat care ii impingea lacrimile la suprafata:"Iarta-ma, iubitul meu!".Bruno intelesese totul numaidecat. O saruta incetisor pe frunte cu un usor parfum de adio.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4866205516821643281-5007663783148264475?l=peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/feeds/5007663783148264475/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/05/dincolo-de-aparente_06.html#comment-form' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/5007663783148264475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/5007663783148264475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/05/dincolo-de-aparente_06.html' title='Dincolo de Aparente'/><author><name>Dee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14647746120264192726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fKs0yW8qbU/TeJM_LxOTmI/AAAAAAAAAD4/98-jeCJdSt0/s220/SDC17927.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SgHDE9KCSVI/AAAAAAAAABI/VEuP0pC6Kbw/s72-c/EhgaRT493553-02.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866205516821643281.post-6475820468614717876</id><published>2009-05-06T09:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-12-10T08:45:33.425-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fotografia</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SgG-qslcmhI/AAAAAAAAABA/_ZG8EBgrltQ/s1600-h/Love_by_evangeliine.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; WIDTH: 186px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332753074515384850" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SgG-qslcmhI/AAAAAAAAABA/_ZG8EBgrltQ/s200/Love_by_evangeliine.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Ce se poate spune despre o tanara de 22 de ani?Ca era frumoasa, inteligenta?ca ii placea Shakespeare si François Villon?Si..EL?&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Tanarul Roberto, pasionat de arta fotografiei,hoinarea pe strazile orasului scaldat in lumina soarelui de dupa-amiaza.Nu cauta nimic special, nici un lucru care i ar putea schimba viata, ci doar un loc bun si plin de lumina pentru a putea prinde "un tablou pictat de soare fără educaţie artistică"dupa cum spunea Ambrose Bierce.I se parea ca este cel mai frumos lucru de pe pamant, era tot ce si dorea sa faca si o facea cu toata pasiunea si devotamentul de care dadea dovada la fiecare concurs de fotografie castigat.Considera ca "fotografia este o arta, arta de a fura timpului o firimitura de clipa".Si era adevarat.Pasiunea ii incoltise in suflet inca din vremea copilariei cand aproape ca s-a indragostit de o fotografie care i s-a intiparit in minte pentru totdeauna.N-a stiut niciodata ce l-a impresionat atat de mult la ea.Sa fie drumul serpuit care ducea spre un curcubeu ce forma un semicerc perfect pe cerul in mii de culori?Sau poate umbrele caselor si ale copacilor care completau peisajul cu alte lumini si forme..Nu stia..pentru ca in simplitatea ei, fotografia spunea multe, dar cu toate astea, copilul de atunci nu intelegea mare lucru din aceasta pentru ca era ca "un secret despre un secret, cu cat ii spunea mai mult, cu atat intelegea mai putin".&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;In acea zi calda de primavara, strabatea aleile parca interminabile ale parcului, imbatat de frumusetile naturii care semana cu o copila tanara, abia nascuta.Ziua aceea il facea sa se simta fericit si implinit asa ca fara sa si dea seama ca unii oameni poate sunt morocanosi, altii nervosi si asa mai departe, Roberto incepu sa fotografieze fiecare om care trecea pe langa el.Copiilor le parea bine, pe tineri ii deranja cumplit, iar oamenilor in varsta le era indiferent, mai ales ca erau prea deconectati de la realitate, datorita atmosferei calde si linistite care ii inconjura.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Ajuns acasa, privea fiecare fotografie in parte cu ochi de cunoscator cautand parca ceva.La un momentdat o gasi.In acea fotografie se afla o tanara fata. cu .buclele negre care ii inconjurau fata mica si trasaturile fine, iar ochii mari si negri aratau ca este intr-adevar fericita, la fel si zambetul stralucitor care-i lumina chipul alb si frumos.Ii facuse poza, cand in nebunia lui fotografia toate persoanele care ii ieseau in cale.Atunci nu si daduse seama cat de frumoasa este fata si cat de reusita este fotografia aceasta facuta din greseala.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Curand, somnul inceta sa si mai faca aparitia, lasand loc unei insomnii crunte.Isi petrecea noptile studiind si analizand fotografia.Parca privirea si chipul ei ii transmiteau un mesaj,inteligibil.Intr-o zi, intelesese.Era indragostit..Da.Se indragostise fara remediu si impotriva vointei lui.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Impins de sentimentul nou descoperit pentru ea, incepu sa o caute cotrobaind prin tot orasul , insa fara succes.Dupa luni intregi de cautari, speranta incepu sa-i paleasca, pana cand...o vazu, se indrepta sprea ea si fu nevoit sa si ceara scuze pentru ca de fapt o confundase.De atunci inceta sa o mai caute, inceta sa mai spere ca intr-o zi o va gasi , dar nu inceta niciodata sa o iubeasca.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Nu trecu mult si fotografia devenise celebra in micul orasel.Aparuse in mai toate revistele si ziarele, iar acum toata lumea vorbea despre ea.Cu toate astea, tanara nu aparea cu nici un chip.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Roberto, parea din ce in ce mai abatut mai ales ca meteorologii anuntasera o iarna nefasta, cu ger, zapada si viscol.In ciuda vremii de a dreptul crude de afara, tanarul continua sa strabata aleile parcului- de care devenise foarte legat in ultima vreme - in lung si-n lat.Gandurile lui nu zburau decat intr-un singur loc:la ea.Si o imagina la capatul aleii, cu parul ei frumos, acoperit de fulgii mari care cadeau necontenit din cer,si cu obrajii rosii din cauza frigului .Ridicandu-si privirea trista din pamant,observa cu stupoare ca imaginea din mintea sa, era acum reala.Ametit din cauza uimirii, nefiind inca sigur daca privirea ii joaca feste, se apropie incet de ea si-i vazu chipul pe care il cunostea atat de bine si pe care-l analizase de milioane de ori timp de apropae un an.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Tu esti ! striga el sugrumat de emotie.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Eu sunt? cine ..sunt?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Tu, esti fata din fotografie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Fotografie?proababil ma confunzi, lasa ma sa plec !&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Dar nu..uite! si scoase fotografia pe care o tinea tot timpul cu el.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Tu esti cel care primavara trecuta facea poze intr-una oricui ii iesea in cale?spuse ea cu uimire in glas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Chiar el. Este cea mai frumoasa fotografie pe care am facut o vreodata&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Glumesti, nu?Este facuta din greseala, unei persoane total nepotrivite si lipsite de importanta ca mine !&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Ai dreptate, este facuta din greseala, dar farmecul sta in persoana care apare in fotografia asta.Adica tu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Fata zambi nestiind ce sa mai spuna.Se uita la fotografie cu o expresie uluita intiparita pe fata.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Henriette ! spuse intr un tarziu si intinse mana pentru a face cunostinta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Roberto !&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Roberto?Ce coincidenta ciudata....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt; Intotdeauna am crezut ca iubirea vietii ele va purta acest nume.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Tinerii incepu sa si povesteasca unul altuia cate-n luna si'n stele, iar timpul trecea pe nesimtite.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Dar vai cat este de tarziu, trebuie neaparat sa plec!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-O, chiar trebuie?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Si mie'mi pare rau, dar chiar trebuie.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Bine atunci, dar promite-mi ca o sa ne mai vedem..curand&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Iti promit.Il saruta incet pe obraz apoi se pierdu in noapte.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Dar stai - striga Roberto - cum o sa dau te tine?dar deja vorbea singur...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Povestea incepuse...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Destinul a facut ca ei sa se intalneasca din nou si din nou si din nou pana cand Roberto a vrut sa-i dezvaluie ca s-a indragostit de ea dinainte de a o cunoaste.Numai ca inainte sa poata rosti un cuvant, Henriette ii acoperi incet buzele cu mana.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Shh!daca vrei ca prietenia noastra sa dureze, trebuie sa mi promiti ceva.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Orice!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Promite-mi ca nu o sa te indragostesti de mine niciodata, niciodata Roberto, intelegi?orice s-ar intampla!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Niciodata, Henriette, ai promisiuna mea.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Dragostea ce i-o purta, l-a facut s-o minta de teama sa nu o piarda.Se multumea sa o priveasca fara sa o atinga,se multumea sa ii citeasca in ochii sai misteriosi, se multumea sa stie ca e langa el.Zilele treceau acum, incredibil de repede, iar iubirea ii crestea in suflet ca o floare, primavara.Sentimentele nu mai puteau fi tinute in frau, o clipa.Trebuia sa i marturiseasca odata pentru totdeauna.Pierdut in ochii sai sclipitori, nu-si gasea cuvintele cu niciun chip asa ca impins de un impuls necontrolat, ii cuprinse fata in ambele maini si o saruta; incet si prelung ca si cum ar face-o pentru prima si ultima data.Ea nu se impotrivi.Cand vraja se rupse, Roberto fu nevoit sa-i marturiseasca:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-M-am indragostit de tine, Henriette !&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Dar mi-ai promis ca nu o vei face. spuse aceasta cu lacrimi in ochi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Imi pare rau, dar teama ca as putea sa te pierd pentru totdeauna,a pus stapanire pe mine si nu am mai fost in stare sa ti spun ca de fapt mi-ai luat mintile din prima clipa in care te-am zarit in acea fotografie.Iarta-ma Henriette, te rog, iarta-ma!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-De ce nu mi ai spus?De ce?nu trebuia sa intru in viata ta niciodata !&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-De ce spui asta?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Fara sa raspunda la intrebare ii spuse:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-In iubire nu trebuie sa spui niciodata "imi pare rau".Crezi ca eu nu am am patit acelasi lucru ca si tine?Crezi ca eu nu m-am indragostit iremediabil?Dar am stiut sa mi ascund sentimentele tot timpul pentru ca ne era mai bine asa.De ce a trebuit sa strici tu totul?De ce? spunea ea cu durere in glas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Dar..nu credeam ca e asa de grav sa iubesti.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;-Este, ei bine chiar este.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Se lasa o tacere mormantala intre cei doi.Singurele care se mai auzeau erau suspinele ei.Lasand la o parte temerile,supararea, intrigile, totul..., Roberto o saruta, iar apoi, impinsi de o dorinta necrutatoare,petrecusera noaptea aceea impreuna, iar el era sigur ca iubirea lor avea sa fie eterna,dar cand se trezi, langa el nu mai statea Henriette ci o bucata de hartie mototolita pe care stateau scrise cu litere scrijelite:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;"&lt;em&gt;Iubitul meu, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Te rog sa intelegi ca nu pot lasa asta sa continue.Te-am rugat sa nu te indragostesti de mine si totusi ai facut-o.Nu te invinovatesc de nimic, dar trebuie sa ma crezi ca asa, este mai bine pentru amandoi.Fa-ma fericta si coninua ti viata fara mine. Nu te obosi sa ma cauti! Si da..singura mea iubire poarta numele Roberto!&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;&lt;em&gt;A ta, Henriette&lt;/em&gt;. "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(51,153,153)"&gt;Roberto nu o cauta, dar nici nu-si schimba sentimentele.Stia ca va ramane in inima sa pentru totdeauna oricat ar incerca sa o uite, dar a hotarat sa-si continue viata si sa incerce sa fie fericit pentru ca stia ca asta si-ar fi dorit si ea.Pentru el, Henriette a fost,este si va fi pentru totdeauna, o prezenta a misterului, o enigma a feminitatii.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4866205516821643281-6475820468614717876?l=peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/feeds/6475820468614717876/comments/default' title='Postare comentarii'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/05/fotografia_06.html#comment-form' title='0 comentarii'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/6475820468614717876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4866205516821643281/posts/default/6475820468614717876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://peurmelecreatiei.blogspot.com/2009/05/fotografia_06.html' title='Fotografia'/><author><name>Dee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14647746120264192726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fKs0yW8qbU/TeJM_LxOTmI/AAAAAAAAAD4/98-jeCJdSt0/s220/SDC17927.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__WMmE15hWmw/SgG-qslcmhI/AAAAAAAAABA/_ZG8EBgrltQ/s72-c/Love_by_evangeliine.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
