I don't love you as if you were a rose,
a precious stone, or a favorite food.
I love you as one loves something more obscure,
secretly, between life and soul.
I love you as a plant that does not bloom
but carries the light of those flowers hidden within itself.
And thanks to your love, the scent that arose within
still lives dimly within my body.
I love you without knowing how,
or when, or from where;
I love you directly, without problems or pride.
I love you like this because
I do not know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not,
nor are you,
So close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
So close that your eyes close with my dreams.
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