Pablo Neruda's "Me Gustas Cuando Callas" *

Me gustas cuando callas porque estas como ausente, y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca. Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca. Como todas las cosas estan llenas de mi alma emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mia. Mariposa de sueno, te pareces a mi alma, y te pareces a la palabra melancolia. Me gustas cuando callas y estas como distante. Y estas como quejandote, mariposa en arrullo. Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza: dejame que me calle con el silencio tuyo. Dejame que te hable tambien con tu silencio claro como una lampara, simple como un anillo. Eres como la noche, callada y constelada. Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo. Me gustas cuando callas porque estas como ausente. Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto. Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan. Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.

*English translation at http://thue.stanford.edu/jacquie/callas.html

Mechanics of a foreign language

A language unknown grips my tongue like an unruly serpent, and subversion is not an option. This is no textbook-taught language with past participles or subject-verb agreements; these are not words studied like vocabulary and memorized for recitation or recollection. It's an unspoken language, not dead, just an eclectic style of communication. Through passion, the lust of love is transmitted to me and I no longer feel lost in translation. Radiating body heat between wildly palpitating hearts acts as a clause that could stand on its own but is supported in prime ways by a deeper meaning, a context provided by emotions exchanged in love. And the foreign concept of "making love" is revealed, in a language I could never speak. But now it all comes together, and I speak with this new, fiery tongue without hesitation in my heart

Disclaimer

I am your worst nightmare.

I am the live embodiment of every crazy chick you've seen in the movies and on TV,

the girl who thinks too much, who runs her own tests, who questions her own judgment, and runs to her friends for help,

the girl who lacks experience and self-confidence and thinks you're capable of fixing it.

I'm that girl, the best friend, the less-than, the better-luck-next time, try-again

I am the girl satirized on weeknight sitcoms, the girl who always comes alone,

the girl who salvages phone numbers, who greedily devours leftovers,

the girl whose heart has a low melting point of sweet nothings and cheap ploys.

I am the girl who closes her eyes before she jumps, and normally ends up beaten and bruised at the bottom of a pit, unable to escape.

I am the girl who has a Hollywood-standard definition of affection, tattooed in neon on every inch of my heart, and believes not in tears that don't pave a path to Prince Charming.

Yes, I'm crazy -- I'm the girl who scares everyone away because I love to care.

I am the girl who just doesn't know what she needs, can have, or truly wants, so she settles with the next-best and hopes for it to not turn out a mess.

I'm that girl -- the one who, plainly stated, knows no better,

the girl who gets in over her head time and time again, all the way in, in hopes that maybe -- just maybe -- I can catch the eye of a hopeless romantic, the kind of sweetheart over-exaggerated in the movies, who opens doors and means all his words, the idealist guys they make up in Hollywood.

So consider this my disclaimer, and read carefully

Now that you know these things, feel free to proceed

because I'm that girl, who makes every hope flee.