House Arrest

Been sick the past few days. Didn't think I'd miss the office, but now I do. So bored. I can only do so much crossword puzzles. No new book. Can't do yoga, too tiring. I don't like being sick. And the doctor tells me I have to stay home until tomorrow. I know I shouldn't be complaining. Soon enough I'll be back at the office, wishing I were home. We people are funny that way. Anyway, found this poem again. Just wanted to share it. No particular reason why. Check out Neruda, he's the best.

Sonnet XVII

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.

-Pablo Neruda