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I wish I’d done everything on Earth with you.

I’m so infinitely used to you that I now feel myself lost and empty: without you, my soul. You turn my life into something light, amazing, rainbowed—you put a glint of happiness on everything—always different: sometimes you can be smoky-pink, downy, sometimes dark, winged—and I don’t know when I love your eyes more—when they are open or shut.

Kisses, my love, deep ones, to the point of fainting, I am waiting for your letter, I love you, I move carefully so as not to break you, as you ring out inside me—so crystal-like, so entrancingly …

Before words can run out, something in the heart must die.

“I hope tomorrow morning when you wake up, you will see the Light in everything. And not only in the sunrise, but in the places that are harder to find, like in the hallways where you are certain you are only passing time, and the gritty gold dust flooring between the floor and the blinds, and every little thing that catches your eye, I hope tomorrow morning when you wake up, you will see the Light in everything.”

Month by month things are losing their hardness; even my body now lets the light through; my spine is soft like wax near the flame of a candle. I dream; I dream.

Que este año me sea dado vivir en mí y no fantasear ni ser otras, que me sea dado ponerme buena y no buscar lo imposible sino la magia y extrañeza de este mundo que habito. Que me sean dados los deseos de vivir y conocer el mundo. Que me sea dado el interesarme por este mundo.

“Exaggerate the essential, leave the obvious vague.”