I have not always had this certainty, this pessimism which reassures the best among us. There was <br />a time when my friends laughed at me. I was not the master of my words. A certain indifference, I <br />have not always known well what I wanted to say, but most often it was because I had nothing to <br />say. The necessity of speaking and the desire not to be heard. My life hanging only by a thread. <br /> <br />There was a time when I seemed to understand nothing. My chains floated on the water. <br /> <br />All my desires are born of my dreams. And I have proven my love with words. To what fantastic <br />creatures have I entrusted myself, in what dolorous and ravishing world has my imagination <br />enclosed me? I am sure of having been loved in the most mysterious of domains, my own. The <br />language of my love does not belong to human language, my human body does not touch the flesh <br />of my love. My amorous imagination has always been constant and high enough so that nothing <br />could attempt to convince me of error.<br /><br />Paul Eluard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-the-window-2/
