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.
The title of this post comes from the poem above — Sonnet XVII: I do not love you…, by Pablo Neruda. I’m fairly certain Mr. Neruda wasn’t writing to his children because I don’t think he ever had any, but for me, these words speak so profoundly of the unconditional love I feel for my children.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where
For a brief time after we had Mia, I thought my heart had about as much love as it could handle. How could it possibly expand to fit more? Oh, how little did I know.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride
(You can read it in its entirety here.)
Also, have you seen the tumblr, Vintage Loves? Don’t you wish you knew their stories? I’d love to use these as writing prompts for fictional love letters between the couples. Hmm…I might have to think about that.
Happy Valentine’s Day!