You are holding something tender. Something real. A debut, yes, but also a heart, opened gently, laid bare in verse. This is not just poetry. It is breath. It is memory. It is what love becomes when you dare to feel it all. These pages carry the soft and the stubborn, the sacred and the aching The kind of love that doesn’t ask permission to exist. It is for those who’ve loved fully, foolishly, fearlessly, and despite. Before you begin, a quiet note: Because of how Writing.com arranges pages, You may find the beginning at the end, The middle is hiding in plain sight, The poems are slightly scattered. But love isn’t linear either. Maybe that’s the point. So read with patience. Read with breath. Let the order find you the way love often does: unexpectedly, but right on time. If these poems hold you, let them. If they move you, share them. You might place something soft into another waiting heart. This is where I begin. Where I say it aloud. This is Te Amo, Alberto"Te Amo, Alberto..." ![]() |
I've added a new item to my portfolio:
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I've added a new item to my portfolio:
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