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 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.