Monday, July 26, 2010

One Hundred Sonnets of Love XVII

by Pablo Neruda

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

**I have always loved this poem. I was reminded of it going through my old blog entries. It strikes a chord today, and I thought I would share.


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