Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved him, and sometimes he loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held him in my arms.
And talked to him under the endless sky.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of this time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love him that's certain, but how I loved him.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch his hearing.
Because through nights like this one I held him in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost him.
Though this be the last pain that he makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for him.
-->[excerpts from Pablo Neruda's saddest poem]