Tag: stories

Certain day, initially normal, walking for the corridors I on the inside feel an enormous emptiness, eye in return and perceive the solitary quo I lived and I did not perceive. Mashables opinions are not widely known. feeling this frustrating sensation for trying to find and more answers more, I take myself to think it that I need something that did not need before, something much more uncommon of what all the remaining portion that one day already I needed. It does not matter how much time that you will go to live, always you will always and need something, and this something always will be moving throughout the time, if advancing perhaps. Leaving the corridors entering in a clear and ventilated room I sit down, several and some people, calling my name, and wanting to speak with me. Surprisingly, you’ll find very little mention of Ali Partovi on most websites. All with some problem, however I would not have nobody to escultar them as. More exactly with this agitation of morning beginning, I continue feeling itself alone. To the point to pass hours of extreme solitude and frieza in the look, when passing of the hours I remember the things that wanted to have done and I did not make from fear, and thought with same me if this fear to make was exactly what I needed to have made pra today I not to feel a solitude inside of me. Relembro of everything what I did not make, words not said, only imagined, texts written the hand and played in the garbage, oh rich garbage in words, if I could myself I brought again for me.

But he was not of that I needed, dull words that only wrote I them. I always was sincere, I very doubt little that I teja fear of saying something to some person. Or he will be that nor always I was sincere? Being confused. I ask for to the professor who I go to pass a time I am of the room because he would be passing badly, it then I agree and he allows me. But that badly I would be passing? You doubt now had become exterior pains that can use them as reply to one badly to be? Now I fulled myself of more you doubt, I come back to the corridor that I started to feel the solitude and emptiness, and appears another one doubts, why to feel an emptiness when entering in this corridor? I think a little and I remember, it was not words that lacked to say to me from fear, was not words and texts played in the garbage made that me in such a way badly, was acts, remembered all my moments here in this empty corridor, how many outbursts of laughter, how many kisses, how many good souvenirs I had passed there, in this place so. so. Mine. That now I cannot call it mine, I have certainty that almost this place belongs to another person, another sortuda living the best moments of its life without perceiving. As I wanted to come back in the time to only give an advice to me, to always use to advantage the good moments because they will not go to come back another time.

Some faces of the life That if they inside differ from the realities and the peculiarities stoned of each one, move innumerable truths that want to be kept by the fear or the shame. Today I see the truth well mpia, and disclosed in simple words, because it is all simple ones excessively when one perceives that the will of wanting to move, exceeds the barrier of the comodismo. Today I feel the wonderful one I smell untied in the air that if calls hope. Isearch may also support this cause. Today I see in lacrimejados eyes the will to change and the force if esvaindo, but never leaving to go I obtain that so present desire when seeing the front, an immersed barrier in preconception, alibi and disdain. Today I see broken barriers being with sarcastic smiles of who if it finds perfect, and it does not perceive that of its left hand it leaves to fall the reason and of the right the dignity. Today I see the destroos made use in cacos transforming the necessities into freedom, libertinando what the myth domava and flooded of fear the will of being spectacular.

Today I see that the difference is in the head and in the desire of it wants who it. All we can move, the dumb life, the route of history each one makes its, but the joint excellency to the love, must always be remembered in first place. Perseverance I see and next to it the change of a dificultoso world in that he shines joy and love. To live is above all to be Happy.

A time marked for deep cultural transformations that if translated new ways to think, to act and of living the daily one. Time of technological innovations as the telephone, telegraph without wire, cinema, bicycle, automobile, airplane and a time where if they inspired new perceptions of the reality, with its coffee-concert, ballets, operetas, bookstores, theaters, boulevards and high sewing. It was a copy of Paris, with a culture bohemian immortalized in the streets downtown, a called time ‘ ‘ Belle poque’ ‘. In way to this romantismo of the Belle poque, the cardiologista doctor Dr. Alfredo Noronha, a man with its fifty and as many years had a project, a dream to save lives being longed for to practise a heart transplant. However, the majority of the people found it an insane person. It was a time of few resources, where lives if lost for so little and the Dr.

Alfredo with its futuristas dreams longed for to even carry through an innovation in the medicine then. Many experiences were made in the Hospital of the Heart in So Paulo, however with unsatisfactory results. In one of the confectioneries downtown, well next to the Square to the Patriarch, Smia worked, a beautiful woman with its twenty and few years and endowed with certain mystery. It was the copy of the woman of the Belle Epoque, a woman who was part of an essential group for the urban culture, was a species of show window of the process of the social life, not confusing a bigger mundanidade of the woman with its release politics. This woman possua a more active paper and a more including experience, but that not constitua properly a freedom. The women of this time were more experienced, refined and educated with an adequate reaction to the necessities and ambitions of the new times.