Little loves.
  • Julio Cortázar, If I’m to Live (via curbsidequo)
  • "

    If I’m to live without you, let it be hard and bloody,
    cold soup, broken shoes, or in the midst of
    opulence
    let the dry branch of a cough jerk through me, barking
    your twisted name, the foaming vowels, and let the
    bedsheets
    stick to my fingers, and nothing give me peace.
    I won’t learn to love you any better this way,
    but abandoned by happiness
    I’ll know how much you gave me just by sometimes being
    around.
    I think I understand this, but I’m kidding myself:
    there’ll need to be frost on the lintel
    so the one taking shelter in the vestibule feels
    the light in the dining room, the milky tablecloths, and the
    smell
    of bread passing its brown hand through the crack.


    As far apart from you
    as one eye from the other,
    out of this affliction I’ve taken on
    will be born the gaze that deserves you at last.

    "
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