Image via www.seasweetie.wordpress.com

To my friends, family and those I have yet to meet: I don’t love because I have to, am expected to, based upon what you do, or indoctrinated to … I love because I do.

Sonnet XVII: I Do Not Love You As If You Were Brine-Rose, Topaz
(by Pablo Neruda)

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.