In love we believe...

Watched Patch Adams last night. Out of everything else that I loved, the thing that stayed with me most was an expression of love, done in the most 'lovely' manner.

It's a poem by Pablo Neruda and it goes as below...

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz

or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:

I love you as certain dark things are loved,

secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries

hidden within itself the light of those flowers,

and thanks to your love, darkly in my body

lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,

I love you simply, without problems or pride:

I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,

so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,

so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

Since I am a sucker for mushy romantic nothings, it made me shed a few silent tears but am not kidding when I say that you will cry too when you watch the movie. Specially the end.