“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.”— Pablo Neruda, Cien sonetos de amor (via decrepito)
Pablo Neruda, Cien sonetos de amor <—-
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