One of my favourite writers, the excellent Pablo Neruda. A writer with style, attitude, great love and deep sorrows. His emotions push people, make them think, make them cry. His soul is slowly getting naked in front of us, while thoughts and feelings are becoming letters and words. I believe that the way he is talking to us with the verses, we can talk and express with style. Style as a personal state of soul. Style and fashion attitude are worn as the most beautiful sonnets are written.
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.