I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

– Pablo Neruda

(Feel so much like a  spent force between Neruda and Rumi. Everything that could be ever expressed with deepest profundity and joy has been moveably and easily told by them)

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