Back then, after finding my class pictures, I would inevitable gravitate towards the creative section. You know, where students submitted their art and writings and whatnot.
I remember vividly reading this poem that a senior of mine had supposedly written. I thought it was beautiful, and haunting at the same time, and I must've read it close to a thousand times. I was in total awe of said senior and I wondered how someone so young (she was 16 at the time) had so much talent. I guess I could say that she inspired the urge in me to start writing.
Up until a few minutes ago, I really did believe she was that talented. As luck would have had it, I was watching a vlog of the making of an indie movie, and they were reading out a note that they had found tucked in a tree.
I'd recognise the first line anywhere!
It turned out that the girl I had been in awe of had plagiarised Sonnet 17 of one Pablo Neruda. I was lied to!
Sonnet 17 by Pablo Neruda
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.
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