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 do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.
Literature is My (Su)rreal Utopia
Sunday, 24 January 2016
Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets
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