๐ข๐ป๐ฒ ๐๐๐ป๐ฑ๐ฟ๐ฒ๐ฑ ๐๐ผ๐๐ฒ ๐ฆ๐ผ๐ป๐ป๐ฒ๐๐: ๐ซ๐ฉ๐๐ I donโt love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz, or arrow of carnations that propagate fire: I love you as one loves certain obscure things, secretly, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that doesnโt bloom but carries the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself, and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose from the earth lives dimly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you directly without problems or pride: I love you like this because I donโt know any other way to love, except in this form in which I am not nor are you, so close that your hand upon my chest is mine, so close that your eyes close with my dreams. โ Pablo Neruda ๐ง๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ป๐๐น๐ฎ๐๐ฒ๐ฑ ๐ฏ๐ Mark Eisner