Reflections on an Autumn Night

I love Vincent Van Gogh. Not necessarily his art although that I indeed like, but rather his life, his essence, what I feel when I think of him, his portrait as sung by Don McLean.

And I love Pablo Neruda, I’m enchanted by some of his early poetry, the era of personalized love and the pain it engendered, I translated his Poema numero veinte once. But I was enchanted even more when his passion bloomed for an entire continent. I love his life even more than I do his art.

And right now, at the dawn of our relationship, when we’ve yet to share our first kiss, when I’ve yet to caress you, I wonder what it is about you I’ll love most of all? I wonder if I’ll ever be able to decide and how beautiful it will be if I never do.

I think this is the first of many poems I’ll write to you.
_______

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