Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping… waiting… and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir… open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us… guides us. Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love… the clarity of hatred… the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we’d know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we’d be truly dead… ♥ Continue reading Passion…

When the longing does not fit in the chest, it is overflowing through our eyes, something moves within us, it is a discontented restlessness that we can barely breathe. When the longing does not fit in the chest, the eyes get sad of waiting … we become tiny we cannot almost see anything … When the longing hits in our chest, it makes us want to cry aloud and say: come back soon, come kill this immense longing to lessen our sorrow…♥…Two years without my father…I miss him…♥ Continue reading Longing…

Past As my fountain pen ink spillage transformed, final and unique, moments and actions, often thrown within my own story, almost a voracious viewer watching scenes of past life in slow motion, but at the same time everything went by so fast, there was almost no time to perceive life — its most complete translation — everything seemed like a dream. As my reflection blackened all mirrors — portrait in black and white of my ideologies massified for archaic theories of a cloudy and gray perception of my inner ‘self’. Present My pen after the storm; breathing, a nuanced desire … Continue reading Allegory behind an idea…

As we soak waters of the songs of Tom Jobim, we can always organic sounding harmony able to return to the human spirit, strength immanent in the natural landscape, as reminding Henry Thoreau: “It is useless to dream of a rusticity away from us. It does not exist. What inspires such a dream is the pond’s in our brains and in our bowels, the primitive vigor of nature existing in us. “ We consider this “primitive force of nature” as the embodiment of a feeling that will spread across lyrical jobiniana: either to find poetic elements in his songs that … Continue reading Tom Jobim

I come from humble people. I have lived a humble life. My aspirations are not for a fancy home. Only a happy one. This is more me than “” things. I admire antiques, I admire the craftsmanship and textures. I like architecture, I love drawing with graphite and charcoal, writing my tales too. Old buildings, especially, old books, old songs. But I am thinking about a simple house or a cabin somewhere near woods and water someday. I’ll be the eccentric older lady with the odd dog that barks like a seal with the English style garden and a wood burning … Continue reading A simple wish…