What is with me and the constant delusion of displacement?
What is it that makes want and long for a time that i never knew and for chivalrous feelings once so common and now so out of time?
What is it with the obsession of a "D.Quijote de la Mancha" character fighting against wind mills for his fair lady?
Why is it that i constantly look for ones that i cannot have and do not want me rather than the ones that i know are good for me?
Is it the idea that without blood,sweat and tears nothing is worth the while?
I mean, i always did look for a challenge, but you get to be older and you expect things to change somewhat...
Shall i call it perseverance or just plain old stupidity?
The fact is THAT I LOVE IT.
Vou de moinho a moinho batendo os meus monstros que me afastam de Dulcineia!
Sofro, mas uma dor que me e' querida!
Que raio se passa comigo?Isto com a idade devia dissipar-se mas o facto e' que me parece que nada e va'lido sem sangue,suor e la'grimas.
Quero aquilo que nao posso ou que nao me quer e desdenho o que e' certo, o porto de abrigo.
E' perseveranca ou estupidez?
Nem arrisco palpite,mas sei que ADORO SER ASSIM!
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