it is enough...

“Sonnet XVII

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. ”

― Pablo Neruda
(as felt by a cricket)