“
Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own:
I wavered through the streets, among
Objects:
Nothing mattered or had a name:
The world was made of air, which waited.
I wavered through the streets, among
Objects:
Nothing mattered or had a name:
The world was made of air, which waited.
”
— Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets (via invishible)
