pablo neruda

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    12.
  1. 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 you or i,
    so intimate that your hand upon my chest
    is my hand,
    so intimate that when i fall asleep
    it is your eyes that close.

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