from Sonnet XVII

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by 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 don't 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 it is your eyes that close.

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Hey, thanks for your thoughts and your time:>)

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