Get Crunk And Drunk

“I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I held her in my arms, I kissed her again and again under the endless sky. She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too. How could one not have loved her great still eyes? Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her, to feel that I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her, and the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. What does it matter that my love could not keep her?”

—	Pablo Neruda