On our wedding day in November, I gave my husband a handwritten poem — one of my favorites by Pablo Neruda.
Yesderday, I showed photos of our framed wedding vows in our bathroom vanities. On the other side of his vanity, he has the framed poem.
The poem is on a cream-colored paper, similar to our wedding invitations and the paper we used for our vows. It is framed in a simple black frame with a burgundy, velvet matt.
Here’s the poem:
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.