I'm in a Pablo kind of mood.

I'm feeling so random lately. I can't keep my thoughts or feelings straight. 

It's not unhappiness though. It's just random.

I've scheduled my classes for the fall semester of college.

I'm taking a stars and galaxy astronomy class and government 2 (plus two other classes).
I love my government classes so I'm hoping I like this teacher.

There is NOTHING more exciting to me than my astronomy class.

I've been feeling pretty lately -- and that's nice.

In the beginning of 'cien sonetos de amor', Pablo's dedication to Matilde says,

"But--with great humility-- I made these sonnets out of wood; I gave them the sound of that opaque pure substances, and that is how they should reach your ears. Walking in forests or on beaches, along hidden lakes, in latitudes sprinkled with ashes, you and I have picked up pieces of pure bark, pieces of wood subject to the comings and goings of water and the weather. Out of such softened relics, then, with hatchet and machete and pocketknife, I built up these lumber piles of love, and with fourteen boards each I built little houses, so that your eyes, which I adore and sing to, might live in them. Now that I have declared the foundations of my love, I surrender this century to you: wooden sonnets that rise only because you gave them life."

Obviously that is just half of it -- the last half.

Even the dedication sounds like a poem.
He makes me want to be in love.

If I had to pick a kind of love, that would be it.

I'm pretty sure I won't accept anything less.

"I like it when you're quiet. It's as if you weren't here now,
and you heard me from a distance, and my voice couldn't reach you.
It's as if your eyes had flown away from you, and as if
your mouth were closed because I leaned in to kiss you.

Just as all living things are filled with my soul,
you emerge from all living things filled with the soul of me.
It's as if, a butterfly in dreams, you were my soul,
and as if you were the soul's word, melancholy.

I like it when you're quiet. It's as if you'd gone away now.
And you'd become the keening, the butterfly's insistence.
And you heard me from a distance and my voice didn't reach you:
it's then that what I want is to be quiet with your silence.

It's then that what I want is to speak to your silence
in a speech as clear as lamplight, as plain as a gold ring.
You are quiet like the night, and like the night you're star-lit.
Your silences are star-like, they're a distant and a simple thing.

I like it when you're quiet. It's as if you weren't here now.
as if you were dead now, and sorrowful, and distant.
A word then is sufficient, or a smile, to make me happy,
Happy that it seems so certain that you're present. "

#15 from Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair <3