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Sonnet 17 by Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I don’t know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I nor you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.
5:15 AM
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coffee-addict, bookworm, surfer 24 years old, Female, With a Complicated Love Life, Occupation: Full-time Instructor and Librarian, Part-time Coffee Addict, and Dream Buyer. :) Currently reading: Allegiant Currently listening to: Holy Grail My Tumblr My Twitter connections dEa bEaTriZ PaT HoPe KeViN_GiNji eViL_TeNsAi MaRzToT m0nAi cUtE_sAi_hAnA JoYcEe jAi-jAi TINEkerbell KrYsTeLLe |