“I don’t love you as if you were the salt-rose, topazor 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 certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”

“I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.”

“Sonnet XVIII 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 bloomsbut 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. ”

“I bought you love poetry! 'I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.'" I blink at him. "Neruda. I starred the passage. God," he moans. "Why didn't you open it?”

“I love you as one loves certain dark things.”