Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I love to read. As a matter of fact, in my short and boring life, I have failed to prepare myself for some exams and test because I'd spent time reading instead of doing what I should have been doing. I know, it is not a good excuse but sometimes I just can't help it. I start to read and everything else kind of... becomes meaningless. And before I started studying Spanish, I read mostly Polish, American and British literature. Sometimes French, but not much. Then my first translation classes took place and... I fell in love with Pablo Neruda poetry. His poem "Tonight I can write the saddest lines...
" was the first long text I translated from Spanish. That is probably why I have a fondness for this piece. But not only this poem is worth reading. I'm posting just this one but check more of his work when you have time. I strongly recommend it to you. 

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example,'The night is shattered

and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.

Her voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. 

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

my sould is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer

and these the last verses that I write for her. 

Pablo Neruda