I have a lot of things to say right now. But I think I need to keep these thoughts for a while (I mean the things that concern this irregular shape vital organ located inside the left portion of my chest). I've got so much thoughts in my head, so many things to write. I for one cannot decide which one of these rumbling thoughts should I put into writing. I've been keeping this "thing" for a while now and have written several posts regarding this one in the past. But no one knows who. I'm such a hopeless romantic. Gaaass. Here's a poem from Pablo Neruda, the greatest poet of the 20th Century.
I hunt for a sign of you in all the others,
In the rapid undulant river of women,
Braids, shyly sinking eyes,
Light step that slices, sailing through the foam.
Suddenly I think I can make out your nails,
Oblong, quick, nieces of a cherry:
Then it's your hair that passes by, and I think
I see your image, a bonfire, burning in the water.
I searched, but no one else had your rhythms,
Your light, the shady day you brought from the forest;
Nobody had your tiny ears.
You are whole, exact, and everything you are is one,
And so I go along, with you I float along, loving
A wide Mississippi toward a feminine sea.