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Sunday, February 01, 2004


Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero quanto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oido.

De otro. Serâ de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque este sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y estos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.

Pablo Neruda

Bravo Neruda! I have never heard anyone call a woman a bitch in such beautiful fashion. What he is really saying is, "You fucked up, you took your love away from a man who is infinitely more capable of feeling and expressing love than any other you will ever know. How does that make you feel?" He will no longer write verses for this lost love. She may never meet another man who will write her beautiful lines of poetry but the Poet will certainly find another woman with whom to share his love. You tell me who the big loser is in that break-up? Forgetting is long, but forgetting is so utterly complete and final when you meet the next love of your life. This woman will come along and instantly no other woman will exist or will have existed.

(This entry was taken from my August 24, 1997 journal entry. Don't really recall the context. Like Neruda's lost love, it's someone I've completely forgotten.

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