My Loves

And so I realized the constant theme of almost all the films of Ingmar Bergman, many vi, some repeatedly, always fascinado and emotional, with the secret that was contained therein. And now this way if we figured spectators of our own lives, furtamo us to our inevitable suffering and its profound ramifications that always has its origin in- Or do LOVE Collectibles.

It was enough to feel the polar cold to sneak, today (12 February 2010) this bridge over the river that glides Ceira remansomente with the birds chirping (we are in winter, but the text seems more pleasant as well), Yesterday at dinner and assisted by afternoon visit to the tomb of Luís da Silveira in prayer, the mother church of Gois, with his helmet and gloves fighting hostels, to understand what we practice all life is try to add as much as possible the number of people who can love us; in so beautify, namoramos, married, have children, divorced in, conquered countries, created the notion of God (but for this there are more reasons to believe in him) and sometimes we die ... and I became loving. What is the scientific explanation for this singular fact as human?

We are more than Ulysses Quixote.

How many people actually loved you? I am not here referring to me the fragility of the phrase "I like you" and much less in relation to the elusive "friendship", I write about the total and absolute love! That I am a lucky Cachopo, tale in my lap no more than a dozen (among dead, parents, that, current girlfriends and other living) and perhaps these two are a mere mirage (read when they already know who I mean).

Recalling the journey of the collective and individual man throughout history, harasses us a sense of loss and thus our will Amores ranging 1,2,3,4,5, 6,5,4,3,2,1,0 and all our actions, beyond our material survival, are to increase and preserve this magical number and this reader, tired of this tedious reading and accustomed to twiter, is simple math to add and subtract.

Let us try to keep our writing cordata, because otherwise my great great grandfather still jumps out of his grave suicidal (and that he did not even like the style of Eca de Queiroz) and comes here to give me with his staff elderberry!

And I'm not a bumbling, though I know the paragraph above comes the nonsense, but what can I do if I am addict Virgina Woolf, Faulkner and others the like, where was I? I know! Organize yourselves player and make a scheme.

What happens when we can no longer reach new love through beauty and to a lesser extent by personality? I confess, I am sad today, but I still remain many loving smiles in my pockets- and always have filial love.

And because today knew that already spent the prime of life (Today was my aging algorithmic) and I can not have too many heteronyms…

With 0 loves in scrip each deluded as can, for example: Quixote to 50 years, the ugly and mournful manchegos fields, part of the search of his missing Dulcinea del Toboso; Dorian Gray becomes a hideous monster all fixolas, others commit suicide, others go crazy, others play cards and invent a thousand and one other idiocies.

I already know what I'll do, first of all around me in a physically perfect man for my age (I've lost seven kilograms in just over a month), enriqueço (which to me is now as easy as blowing your nose), I become an "almost" Buddhist monk, encounter a dog as my old Joly, buy a Ferrari and disappear to write for www.universonotavel.com, or else alternatively write the most beautiful novels of Humanity (tremei friends Dostoevsky, Cervantes, Homer and company limited); but as I am and I will be modest, although gifted, friendly and loves drips- and now already consider myself ugly and anoso- I can always have a toothless crone Gaiteira and crippled as companion.

For a moment I forgot, the yoke that I have about myself and hear the gentle beating of our hearts and feel the presumption of our bodies and understand the transformation of their cold hands indelibly captures the warmth of my, wanted the moment lasted, and I thought to myself: this is also happiness and I could not wish for anything better…!

And the presentiment already unreal shadows of the night and we return to real life we ​​know (warm tea and peppermint meeting in kindergarten). Here the arm of the C., very poor thing, lagriminha with the corner of your eye, trying to hide my dark complexion and well even though I had conjunctivitis), write, an intelligible letter, we have to resume life at the point where we had left and just so we're less sad, and stronger renewed.

Nota final: Caro friend(a) I know you just read this with any animosity, not so much by style, but more by the immodesty and unnecessary Joker, but are purgative of my soul, bleak for now; but follow my advice since you have come this far, so it loosens up, hear the lame Pacific Ocean, away from thee all evil thoughts about me and think my reason (The Hoarding of Love) and if you want you can even think that I'm nutty, but since they give out this site because I just won a few more troquinhos to buy my Ferrari.

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