hey.....happy birthday

u ova dva dana je bilo jakoooooo lijepo

Mazo volim te i sretan sam što te imam ;D

nice nice,ja se sada probudio hehe,pa citam ;D hehe;D

Ljubavi moja još jednom sretna nova,sutra se vidimo i sto da ti kazem,lijepa pjesma ti svira ;)

pusssa ljubavi:P

EntréGate Luis Miguel ¿Cómo te atreves a mirarme así, a ser tan bella, y encima sonreir? Mía, hoy serás mía por fin. Cierra los ojos, déjate querer. Quiero llevarte al valle del placer. Mía, hoy serás mía, lo sé, Déjame robar el gran secreto de tu piel. Déjate llevar por tus instintos de mujer. Entrégate - aun no te siento. Deja que tu cuerpo se acostumbre a mi calor. Entrégate, mi prisionera, La pasión no espera y ya no puedo más de amor. Abre los ojos, no me hagas sufrir. No te das cuenta que tengo sed de ti. Mía, hoy serás mía por fin. Déjame besar el brillo de tu desnudez. Déjame llegar a ese rincón que yo soñé. Entrégate - aun no te siento. Deja que tu cuerpo se acostumbre a mi calor. Entrégate sin condiciones, tengo mil razones, y ya no aguanto más de amor.

mazo volim te ,joj kad cu te opet vidjeti

bok

!!!! You are very beautiful...
Imagenes para hi5

ey, thnx za req ^^

pozz

Camila, my puppy

Twenty Love Poems: And a Song of Despair (Pablo Neruda)

Tonight I Can Write
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, "The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance."
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

Coastal of Santa Fe

Hanging bridge of Santa Fe, my city

The Bolson, Patagonia Argentina

Cambalache by Enrique Santos Discepolo


That the world was and it will be filth,
I already know...
In the year five hundred and six
and in the year two thousand too!
There always have been thieves,
traitors and victims of fraud,
happy and bitter people,
valuables and imitations
But, that the twentieth century
is a display
of insolent malice,
nobody can deny it anymore.
We lived sunk in a fuzz
and in the same mud
all well-worn...
Today it happens it is the same
to be decent or a traitor!
To be an ignorant, a genius, a pickpocket,
a generous person or a swindler!
All is the same! Nothing is better!
They are the same, an idiot ass
and a great professor!
There are no failing grades or merit valuations,
the immoral have caught up with us.
If one lives in a pose
and another, in his ambition, steals,
it's the same if it's a priest,
a mattress maker, a king of clubs,
a cad or a tramp.
What a lack of respect,
what a way to run over reason!
Anybody is a gentleman!
Anybody is a thief!
Mixed with Stavinsky, you have Don Bosco
and La Mignon
don Chicho and Napoleon,
Carnera and San Martin.
Like in the disrespectful window
of the bazaars,
life is mixed up,
and wounded by a sword without rivets
you can see a Bible crying
next to a water heater.
Twentieth century, bazaar
problematic and feverish!
If you don't cry you don't get fed
and if you don't steal you're a stupid.
Go ahead! Keep it up!
That there, in hell
we're gonna reunite.
Don't think anymore,
move out of the way.
Nobody seems to care
if you were born honest.
It's the same the one who works,
day and night like an ox,
than the one who lives from the others,
than the one that kills or heals
or than the one who lives outside the law.