July 20, 1997...

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

15 years of marriage with my best friend is a treasure that surpasses material wealth and status. We struggle together, we raise our beautiful children together, we laugh and cry together…nothing is more precious. No matter what happens in life, I have a person in whom I can place all of my trust. Our lives have been far from perfect, yet we continue to have a sense of humor about it all. What a wonderful thing it is, that I found my soul’s mate at such a young age. We got it right the first time, against all odds. Both children of divorce and less than perfect parents, we have given each other that which we have always craved: unconditional love, safety, acceptance. Is there any greater reward on earth? Not for me. This gift is more precious than gold. Which is good, because we can’t afford gold…and my microwave just blew up.

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