You are the only person on earth, Lover, who has ever known and loved all of me – Men love me ’cause I’m pretty – and they’re always afraid of mental wickedness – and men love me ’cause I’m clever, and they’re always afraid of my prettiness – One or two have even loved me ’cause I’m lovable, and then of course I was acting – But you just do, darling – and I do – very very very much -
She was very near hating him now; yet the sound of his voice, the way the light fell on his dark hair, the way he sat and moved and wore his clothes—she was conscious that even these trivial things were inwoven with her deepest life.
don’t you see that there are men enough to say pleasant things to me, and that what i want is a friend who won’t be afraid to say disagreeable ones when i need them? sometimes i have fancied you might be that friend — i don’t know why, except that you are neither a prig nor a bounder, and that i shouldn’t have to pretend with you or be on my guard against you.
This line is even more beautiful in Spanish (its original form) and oh well, the poem is so beautiful and so Dair. Anyway if you haven’t read this Pablo Neruda poem, here’s the link in English maybe it can inspire a fic? [Thinking about you, talented Dair fic writers]. If you know Spanish, you can read the original version, which is much more beautiful. I’m using this edit in another project I’m working but I’m kind of cropping it and I really liked how this one turned out, kind of vintage-y, like a postcard, idk.
Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn’t wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game: whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time.