I remember those afternoons that happened to your hand, overturned that
money that did not go to many of rubble, but for us
had meaning. These old coins sujidas reflected the brightness of the
your look, it was jovial and the water clear as crystal.

Though your force is not more of the same when young, even
I will not hesitate to tell the story of those coins and notes those
old, some signals from the load time, but as you continued
in the fight against time.

Today if you're still among us would be complete one year of life,
but no longer conforms with me the memory of those lost evenings,
even paradoxical full of nostalgia and joy. I promise to get you increase
the estate that behind me, those old coins, which we joined.

Miss you,
miss our conversations,
a few others not,
conversations that have proved to me
the meaning of friendships.
Miss you,
miss your smell,
which hampers for my nostrils,
penetrated through my skin,
and awakening desires.
Miss you,
miss your touch,
your skin smooth as silk
overlapped to my
causing me chills.
Miss you,
miss of your lips,
wet lips
moistened my skin,
shooting my heart.
Miss you,
miss those times,
I hope
not to relive the past,

but a future of living next to you.

Arthur A. Melo.