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I do not love you-except because I love you I go from loving to not loving you, from waiting to not waiting for you my heart moves from the cold into the fire.

Pablo Neruda

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Pablo Neruda
Age: 69 †
Born: 1904
Born: July 12
Died: 1973
Died: September 23
Author
Autobiographer
Diplomat
Lyricist
Poet
Politician
Senator Of Chile
Nieh-lu-ta
Neftalí Reyes Basoalto
Pamplo Nerouda
Neftalí Ricardo Reyes
Bāblū Nīrūdā
Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto
Nieluda
Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto
Neftali Reyes Basualto
Neftali Reyes Basoalto
Neftali Ricardo Reyes
Neftalí Reyes Basualto
Pāplō Nerūda
Moving
Heart
Girlfriend
Love
Moves
Loving
Except
Cold
Fire
Waiting

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Your wide eyes are the only light I know from extinguished constellations.
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I am everybody and every time, I always call myself by your name.
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Love, what a long way, to arrive at a kiss.
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sometimes i get up at dawn, and even my soul is wet.
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I will bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
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Love has to be…flowering like the stars, and measureless as a kiss.
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Sometimes a piece of sun burned like a coin in my hand.
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How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.
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In the distance someone is singing.
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I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
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In love, you have loosened yourself like seawater
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Fue adondo a mi me perdieron quw logre por fin encontrarme? Was it where they lost me that I finally found myself?
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What can I say without touching the earth with my hands?
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Do tears not yet spilled wait in small lakes?
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When everything seems to be set to show me off as intelligent, the fool I always keep hidden takes over all that I say.
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Two things make a story. The net and the air that falls through the net.
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Oh love, rose made wet by mermaids and foams, fire that dances and climbs up the invisible stairs and awakens the blood in the tunnel of sleeplessness.
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I want to see the thirst inside the syllables I want to touch the fire in the sound: I want to feel the darkness of the cry. I want words as rough as virgin rocks.” - Verb.
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