Sonnet XVII: 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 the 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 straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Now, that's a love poem.

Most love poems I like, but I sort of roll my eyes. I'm a sentimental girl for sure, but I'm enough of a Virgo (read: practical) to sort of get embarrassed by too much flowery stuff.

That said, there's a mystery to love that this poem really captures for me. Dark places in the heart that a certain person touches quietly. You fall in love -- you don't know why -- and over time, the reasons come clear.

Between the shadow and soul. Is that where loves lives? The Shadow is your dark self, the one you try to keep hidden. The soul is... well, who knows. Let's say that it's your true self. Love is living between the two. A little irrational, tempestuous, dangerous, scary... and also, it's something that you know.

Well. There's more to love than I can craft in a short blog entry. But I love this poem, and I love Pablo Neruda. A certain someone once sent me a Neruda poem and captured my heart, the sweetie pie.