sonnet XVII

I found this sonnet on someone's blog I recently discovered, and I liked it because it doesn't necessarily describe love as something beautiful or perfect... because it is not, but through its imperfections, you find the real beauty and that genuine feeling that makes it truly wonderful! shet mushy eeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!

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. -Pablo Neruda