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I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it’s you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

I will slither into your skin, be enveloped by your spores, soft and gentle and vicious. Fill every molecule of you with proper fractions of my selfs; disbelieving your fundamental beliefs, and lay side by side with you. By reciprocal actions, you will do the same for me. We’ll have picnics, go to Greece, see the Acropolis, read books, laugh under the autumn sun in between Madrid streets. All is one, one is all; do you see that? Imagine through imagination.

Come thither, read my mind like a psychic. I could write all day and travel endlessly and be tireless with you, shiver when winter comes but you take my mind off it, ice skate with snowflakes falling, walking and tumbling down, running and smiling. If you accept my complete wistfulness, my sporadic judgment, fleeting happiness, my impracticality when it comes to tidying, my dislike of sleeping, my eagerness, my selfishness, my expectations, my life, me and

if you let me,

I will love you.