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.
And thanks to your love,
the scent that arose inside
still lives dimly in 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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