"
She stubs out her cigarette in the brown glass ashtray, then settles herself against him, ear to his chest. She likes to hear his voice this way, as if it begins not in his throat but in his body, like a hum or a growl, or like a voice speaking from deep underground. Like the blood moving through her own heart: a word, a word, a word.
"
by Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin
"
So I wait for you like a lonely house
till you will see me again and live in me.
Till then my windows ache. "
till you will see me again and live in me.
Till then my windows ache. "
by Pablo Neruda
