A 26 years love story

I fall in love for her in 1985...26 years ago...and never changed since them. We`ve been together for a while...then we break apart...but I never managed to forget her or let my feelings die.

In the last 26 years we`re getting closer...but our lives had been already been built. Two good and nice families that don`t deserve to be cheated and destroyed.

But we`ve dragged to each other relentlessly

Not Ready for Mine....

I met you through a friend,
I knew you only through them.
Now things are going a bit different,
As we get to see each other, again and again.

I thought I could easily love you.
Never the less, I think I do.
However I’m afraid to take a spot
And I don’t know where to start.

I wish I could make you feel.
My love that is so strong and real.
I thought I could make you fall
But I guess I was very wrong.

Maybe we need a little more time,
Before I can say that you are mine.
Maybe I also need me to mind,
That your heart is still aching until this time.

Yes, I understand that you will not be ready for mine.


A thousand frozen memories
With a dozen roses for rembering

people dying while life is ending
kids living and new beginings

So these roses are yours to embrace

Roses Roses Roses Roses Roses Roses

we can do it

please read this song with full concentration
i need to apologise for all the aggravation
sitting hear in complete devastation
lets forget what has happened in every situation
i loved you so much which i say with no hesitation
you 2 were my world my only salvation
not feeling ya love no more is a horrible sensation
my heart has stopped beating through pure starvation
lacking the love it once had before this isolation
pretend ya in a dream use ya imagination
in a happy ending would i be joining celebrations
gg you got to believe you are an inspiration
always happy to help with no obligations


I shed a tear for the time lost
My hearts crossed over the years,
The memories I’ve come across,
I cherish as priceless
As family we’ve endured every crisis
Laughed, cried, buried, and gave birth
And learned what life is
To the point I see the light with closed eyelids

That Night

Words are fine but, I wish I could show
What I want, I want you to know
If only I could touch, then maybe
It would'nt be tough, If I could see
Your face, rub my hands through
I touch your smile, you kiss my hand smooth
I smile back, this feeling is strong
I kiss you hard, I can't fight the wrong
My chest gives, breathin in and out
This is your time, so I take you down
You say yes, so you say no
it is complicated, so I know
I touch your body, looking at your eyes
"you are beautiful", you start to breathe heavily
As I go lower, your body goes weak
I wish I could show you, this you cannot keep

A Beautiful Mind

A thousand memories run through me
So I see you constantly

I focuse on something more
But I see you even more

From when I wake til I go to to bed
It is you running through my head

You start to become more than a memory
It's like a beautiful mind and you're right next to me

I go to talk to you
But my lips won't move

A thousand memories run through me
And not one I regret remembering

Milana's Song

I’m a coffee pub hopper as you know by now; a place where I go toregroup or get focused to start a venture in a new place; thus I’ll goto different coffee shops, find me a window seat, if not sitting onthe outside, get me a hot cup of coffee and sit there and enjoy life,its people, and what it has to offer for about twenty to thirtyminutes, and it can make a complete day. Ironically I met Milana oneevening after sitting there trying to decide what to do or what to donext. The next morning I woke up still trying to figure out what wasgoing on, only to find her sitting there on the edge of the bed on aSaturday morning, watching cartoons. I had just taken for granted thatshe had awaken earlier than I had and turned on the TV, while I laythere still asleep after a long night, that after awakening, I couldonly vaguely remember.After realizing that I was still somewhere on planet earth, Igrabbed her and laid her on the bed, kissed the back of her head, theback of her neck, to the bottom of her feet; realizing how nice,creamy and white she was, soft and firm. Then all of a sudden Irealized that I really couldn’t remember everything that happened thenight before, and suddenly realized that I should, as quickly aspossible, lay her on her back. But then I began to kiss her on herthighs, knees and all the way down to her feet.After we sat there and talked for a while, she told me she was fromRussia, I then, just trying to find out as much as I could about thislovely young lady, asked her how old she was, when she told me thatshe was seventeen. A responsive and quick chuckle came out, while mymind began to try and create a chronology to come up with a plausibleage, which when done, could have truly been seventeen. It somewhat puta halt to anything else that I was about to say as we walked out ofthe door. She then wrote her number down on a piece of paper and toldme to call her, while we walked out, heading down the elevator andacross the lobby and walking up to the corner where we waited on ataxi; where I realized that my mind was putting back the pieces of along ago night that happened only a few ours ago, and yet twenty yearsago also. As she was about to get inside of the cab that had justpulled up, I asked her to give me a kiss goodbye, as a close lover oreven husband would ask his wife before heading off for the day, whereshe turned around and gave me a quick soft and passionate kiss beforeridding off into an early morning Dubai sunrise.Later after my mind had put together the pieces of the nightbefore, and realized how sweet it had been; the kiss that she hadgiven me just before leaving, was only a small portion of what she hadgiven me the night before, while my mind also brought back a nighttwenty years ago, where a beautiful young seventeen year old namedJackie, that I kissed from head to feet lay on side of me the nextmorning, and where she could have been, if I could remember, likeMilana, sitting at the edge of the bed, waiting for me to awaken,while watching cartoons, where when finally having had arisen, I wouldhave grabbed her one more time and begin to kiss her all over again.

Women of The L.O.M. (Love Letter)

I didn’t of course, once again, catch my plane on time; I think I was about three or four days late before heading out. But the night before I left, as if a was living a nightmare or had just awaken from a dream, I walked into the café after having come in for the evening to have my late cup of coffee, which sometimes is from sunrise to sunrise, where I then looked around the place, (and a room that, as I said, has equally as many women as men sitting there, talking, eating, drinking, they don’t serve alcohol; a soft drink or tea, etc., playing video games or sitting with friends, and quickly, though I wouldn’t, and where at least until this very moment, say this is one of my ulterior motives for frequenting the place; to see a beautiful face) when I suddenly realized that there wasn’t one single woman in the café. I thought it peculiar as I sat there and tired to ponder on this event, but couldn’t figure out why, nor could I, maybe because of the shock, ask any of the men that either worked there or were sitting there as usual, where had they gone; though they seemed not as surprised as I was. I took it as an extraordinary coincidence, and went up to my room for a few hours before deciding to go out for supper, knowing that I would have gone back to sleep and have awaken from the nightmare that I was now having, and things would have returned back to normal.

The Faithful Streetwalker

Its name... What is its name? It only hears a desperate whistle
Who owns this clothing that tightly hugs its back and sheers its front?
Who is this "me" it longs to remember? Questions...Questions...
It fears the ghostly moon as it stomps in the dark and windy street with golden sinful locks and smeared black tired eyes.

'God... Who is this being?' it asks a stray cat that loiters the back alley of Vatolli's Italian Cuisine
It has stowed a book beneath its cradle, a springy mattress of no true owner
The big man in pimped-purple swag garmented in strings of gold and jewels--is he God?


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© 2010 Miguel Duarte.