Pablo Neruda

Dear Future Wife,

One evening, we’re going to sit down and open a bottle of wine. We’ll end up talking about how happy we are, and about all the things that led us to this moment – the good, the bad, the ugly.
You will be worth every mistake I’ve made, every bad decision, every night I’ve cried myself to sleep over someone who wasn’t worth it.

When I look into your eyes, I’ll finally feel at home, and the sudden burst of joy in my chest every time I hear you laugh will constantly reassure me that it’s you – that we’re meant to be.
Every passing day brings us closer together, to the moment when we look at each other and realize that this is what Pablo Neruda wrote about.

Love,
Me

Tonight I Can Write
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, “The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.”
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
— 

Poem XX

Pablo Neruda

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, 100 Love Sonnets
T'amo senza sapere come,
né quando, né da dove.
T'amo direttamente senza problemi
né orgoglio:
così ti amo, perché non so amare altrimenti.
—  Pablo Neruda