camicazy

Meshed Up
2002-05-01 10:58:19 (UTC)

Love

she asked, 'how is it possible to love and hate someone at
the same time?'

i said, 'i...uhh...don't know...'

****************

love is mysterious. how can a person hate someone and yet
love him at the same time? how can a person feel such an
intense hatred for one person and yet want to be with him
for the rest of her life?

can love be defined? is love truly blind? is love the
overwhelming feeling that you get everytime you think of
that person? is love the feeling of sadness when your loved
one is sad, and the feeling of happiness when your loved
one is happy? is love a pair of glasses -- to make you see
an imperfect person perfectly?

love...is none of the above. love simply is. it can never
be defined. how do you know if it is love and not just
care? how do you know that it is only care and not love?
how do you know that it is love and not lust? how do you
know that you love a person? when do you mark that exact
moment in time? is love simply a psychological state? you
think you are in love and so you somehow convince yourself
that you ARE in love. what is love? when is love? how is
love?

love is like life. you don't know what life is
for...whether life has meaning or whether life is really
life. are we truly alive? am i really touching the keys as
i type? are my thoughts really turning in my mind right now?

love is like that. a great man said, 'love is a mystery.
you can not understand it if it is present. you can not
understand it if it is absent. or if it is truly absent.'

i leave you with a poem by pablo neruda. i've only read
three of his poems..but i think he is an absolutely
brilliant poet. his poems are beautiful. absolutely
beautiful. his poems are what poems are.

SADDEST POEM
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."
The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.
What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.
That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.
As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.
The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.
I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.
Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.
Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.
Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.




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