Alone

Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been 
As others were; I have not seen 
As others saw; I could not bring 
My passions from a common spring. 
From the same source I have not taken 
My sorrow; I could not awaken 
My heart to joy at the same tone; 
And all I loved, I loved alone. 
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn 
Of a most stormy life- was drawn 
From every depth of good and ill 
The mystery which binds me still: 
From the torrent, or the fountain, 
From the red cliff of the mountain, 
From the sun that round me rolled 
In its autumn tint of gold, 
From the lightning in the sky 
As it passed me flying by, 
From the thunder and the storm, 
And the cloud that took the form 
(When the rest of Heaven was blue) 
Of a demon in my view.

by Edgar Allan Poe

Al perderte yo a ti

Al perderte yo a ti, tú y yo hemos perdido: 
yo, porque tú eras lo que yo más amaba 
y tú porque yo era el que te amaba más. 
Pero de nosotros dos tú pierdes más que yo: 
porque yo podré amar a otras como te amaba a ti, 
pero a ti no te amarán como te amaba yo.

Autor del poema: Ernesto Cardenal

Real love

Once someone asked me if I was sure about my feelings. If I knew what real love was like. This person told me you know you love someone when you want to wake up next to him/her everyday. When you want to expend the rest of your life with this person. She told me that no matter how he/she looked, if you really loved him/her you would always see them as the most beautiful person ever. No matter if she was just woken up, if he was sneezing and with a flue, you would always see their beauty.

But she didn't told me how it hurted, when you want to expend all the nights with him or wake up next to him in the mornings and you couldn't. She should have told me how much it hurted. She should have told me love meant pain too. But I guess she already knew that...