Crazy, lovely, off the mark People I meet. I adore their slant life, eyes that embrace reality, no, realities! Minds that find it all to be…too much, never enough, tasteful and wonderfully vulgar, live to feel, feel to live.
My fingers unsure what they key, my brain unsure of these thoughts. So melancholic as of late. Such sweet, quiet surprise. A name scorned on this heart, but no fault of his, he is but a stranger of words, of presence to my being. Never we will meet, but how kind to give me these words of stranger known…
They did not only touch me.
My hand did not merely touch them,
in such a way
that with me, they indeed existed,
and they were for me so full of life,
that they lived with me half-alive,
and they will die with me half -dead.
– Pablo Neruda, excerpt of “Ode to Things”