Me Deixa que hoje eu To de Bobeira

Those who see only the rust will never understand the courage it takes for old steel to remain standing

Rust is not the death of steel; it is simply time learning to write upon it

Perhaps we are not lost.


Perhaps we have spent so long searching for a door that we forgot to ask whether there was ever a way out.

Some desires do not die.


They merely rust inside us until they lose the ability to be fulfilled.

The saddest souls do not fear death—they simply become accustomed to cancelling tomorrow before it arrives."
"Rust is merely time teaching the heart that even hope can decay in silence.

The clocks have long forgotten how to sing.
They only grind their rust into my bones,
while every dawn arrives like an unpaid debt
and every dusk folds another year into my skin.
Loneliness is not a room.
It is a patient blacksmith,
forging silence into chains,
teaching the heart to grow old before the body.
I wake only to postpone tomorrow.
Every promise is crossed out before it breathes;
I have become a careful collector
of unfinished mornings.
My soul hangs beneath the weather
like an abandoned lantern,
its light surrendering, not all at once,
but flake by flake,
the way iron quietly accepts rust.
The seasons no longer knock at my window.
They pass as strangers
who once knew my name
and chose the mercy of forgetting.
If hope still exists,
it has learnt to whisper from another century.
I cannot hear it above the slow corrosion
of hours feeding upon my chest.
And so I remain—
not living, not dying,
only watching time patiently oxidise
the last bright corners of a lonely soul,
while every evening
I gently cancel tomorrow
as though the future were a letter
that was never meant to find me.The clocks have long forgotten how to sing.
They only grind their rust into my bones,
while every dawn arrives like an unpaid debt
and every dusk folds another year into my skin.
Loneliness is not a room.
It is a patient blacksmith,
forging silence into chains,
teaching the heart to grow old before the body.
I wake only to postpone tomorrow.
Every promise is crossed out before it breathes;
I have become a careful collector
of unfinished mornings.
My soul hangs beneath the weather
like an abandoned lantern,
its light surrendering, not all at once,
but flake by flake,
the way iron quietly accepts rust.
The seasons no longer knock at my window.
They pass as strangers
who once knew my name
and chose the mercy of forgetting.
If hope still exists,
it has learnt to whisper from another century.
I cannot hear it above the slow corrosion
of hours feeding upon my chest.
And so I remain—
not living, not dying,
only watching time patiently oxidise
the last bright corners of a lonely soul,
while every evening
I gently cancel tomorrow
as though the future were a letter
that was never meant to find me.

I love you, Imiss you, you are my world I think of you, you make me happy, I want to be with you, you are my lome, I need you.

Gravei seu nome na alma de um jeito tão profundo que até meu silêncio e cada suspiro pertencem totalmente a você.
_Enzo Ruchell_

Cadê os imitadores de Jesus? Tô precisando de vinho, pão e peixes, quero curar minhas doenças crônicas, inclusive preciso ressuscitar meu vizinho que me devia uma fortuna.

The Search of a Capuchinho


I once knew a man whose heart was never attached to the things of this world. But before he became a man, he was simply a tiny cry in a cold room.
It was the year 2000. While many feared the end, life was beginning to blossom. Amid the chaos of that time, a boy was born — a boy named Capuchinho.
At that moment, his greatest desire was not to see the world or discover the paths of life. He only wanted his mother’s warmth, her loving arms, her lap, her comfort.
And in that cold room, a mother’s love showed that there is a warmth no season can overcome, an embrace that no cold can withstand, a love capable of transforming any beginning into a home.
Time passed slowly, and almost two years went by before Capuchinho decided to walk.
Perhaps, deep down, he knew that many paths were waiting for him. Or perhaps he simply wanted to remain a little longer in the arms he loved so much.
But one day, he stood up, took his first steps, and when he looked at his mother, he found in her eyes the most beautiful of rewards:
the joy of a mother watching her child walk.
And so life went on.
Still so young, he was already learning to care for the one who had once cared for him.
He did not collect enemies, but he gained many friends. He did not seek vanity, but carried humility.
He had a gentle heart, the kind that leaves a mark without needing to make noise.
And perhaps his greatest “flaw” was precisely this:
he wanted to be a little better today than he was yesterday.
His heart did not long only for the temporary things of this world. There was a greater question within him, a deeper longing:
“How does God’s world work?”
He wanted to understand the ways of the Lord. He wanted to know the truth. He wanted to be saved. He wanted to be approved by God.
And in his prayers, there was a sincerity that few people knew.
He would say to the Lord:
“If I am already ready for salvation, do not prolong my days to the point that I might lose my way.
And if it is possible, when my time comes, let me simply fall asleep.”
Perhaps no one could have imagined that such an intimate prayer would one day be answered.
But God knows the heart that no one else can see.
And in 2026, when the appointed time came, Capuchinho fell asleep.
Without noise. Without a grand farewell. He simply closed his eyes to this world and opened his heart to eternity.
Perhaps it was the mercy he had asked for.
Perhaps it was the answer he had been waiting for.
And now those who loved him remain.
His family remains. His friends remain. The stories remain. The embraces that will never happen again, the words that will never be heard again, the moments that time will never be able to erase.
Because some people leave, but they never disappear.
They continue to live in our memories, in the lessons they taught us, in the stories told with longing, and above all, within the hearts of those who loved them.
Today, perhaps there is silence where his voice once was.
But there is also gratitude for everything that was lived.
Because Capuchinho did not leave behind just a story.
He left love. He left friendship. He left humility. He left memories. He left longing.
And if one day someone asks who that man was whose heart was never attached to the things of this world, perhaps the answer is simple:
He was a man who was born wanting his mother’s embrace, grew up wanting to care for her, lived wanting to become better, and departed wishing only to be prepared to meet God.
In memory of Capuchinho.
May his story remain alive in the hearts of those who had the privilege of knowing him and loving him.


@gs_capuchinho

Nem todo vínculo familiar é sinônimo de acolhimento, amor também se constrói.


-Jouberth Toffoli

A vida não nos pede perfeição, ela apenas nos convida a conhecer a nós mesmos.


-Jouberth Toffoli

⁠Aqui, no RS, não existe mais inverno, verão ou primavera; só existe outono! Ou tô no aguaceiro, ou tô no fogo... ou tô no inferno!

A pressa.
Correndo entre círculos.
Uma vozinha miúda grita
Apressa o passo! Apressa.


Um torrão de açúcar.
Cercado por um formigueiro
Não é um bolo.
De dinheiro.


Uma lágrima amarela.
Não é uma aquarela.
Sem ler, você ainda pode ver.
O irônico é que até consegue.
Escrever!
Sem ver.
A pressa.
Não acompanha ninguém.
Apressa... Apressa.
E viva.
Bem.


🐜݁


Ouvindo: I'll Be There.

⁠A razão, sabendo que a revelação divina é de fato divina, já está convencida de que ela excede a toda certeza humana.

A semelhança com Cristo nunca foi um caminho para a popularidade. Quanto mais a vida de Jesus se torna visível em nós, mais natural é que desperte as mesmas reações que Ele despertou. Se a ausência de oposição nos tranquiliza, talvez valha a pena perguntar não o quanto o mundo mudou, mas o quanto Cristo é realmente visto em nós.

Obrigada, Papai do Céu...
Só tenho que agradecer...
Tô bem... Tô viva...
Tô cheia de vontade de vencer...
Tô irradiando alegria...
Tô exalando esse brilho todo que vem de você!

⁠Ela é doce feito mel ... meiga , carinhosa ..
Ela é poema , poesia , rima , estrofe ...
Ela é toda delicadeza !!!
Ela é sensibilidade , é força, coragem ...
Ela é música para os ouvidos, ela é felicidade, sorriso.
Ela é sonho bom , fé em dias melhores. Ela é ventania , vendaval , furacão!
Ela é perfeita , ela é de fases , de lua , de emoção... adrenalina pura , puro êxtase.. quando contrariada Ela é vulcão! Menina moça, princesa , mulherão!!!
Ela é toda indefinível, indecifrável,ela é um livro , que nem se pode julgar pela capa. Ela não é flor que se cheira,mas é leoa , fera , felina.. minha musa , minha deusa, minha loucura, minha perdição , minha inspiração!!

"In the night, i feel the cold, i feel you, and i still alone.
To conquer you, it's just brake my back, to make a couple bones.
Ice heart, heart of stone.
I'm still hearing your voice, even after i turn off the phone.
I love you my queen, before you, i bend my knee, my head are prone.
To have you, i would kill a hundred kings, conquer a thousand thrones.
I don't know what to do, i don't know what you've done.
You vanished, destroied my soul, and gone.
I gaved you shelter, you take it, and leave me without no home.
I begged you, i tried, God knows i've; and now, i'm done.
I fought like a hell, to live in your Paradise, but i realize, i'm not the one.
You have to many kisses, so many hugs, give me some.
And in the night, praying for you, nothing changes, i'm still here, all alone..."

É doloroso ver que a empatia virou um luxo raro, enquanto a maldade se tornou o hábito banal de todos os dias.