Explore "The Hurt" by Pablo Neruda on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I have hurt you, my dear,
I have torn your soul.
Understand me.
Everyone knows who I am, but that "I am" is besides a man for you.
In you I waver, fall and rise up burning.
You among all beings have the right to see me weak.
And your little hand of bread and guitar must touch my breast when it goes off to fight.
That's why I seek in you the firm stone.
Harsh hands I sink in your blood seeking your firmness and the depth that I need, and if I find only your metallic laughter, if I find nothing on which to support my harsh steps adored one, accept my sadness and my anger, my enemy hands destroying you a little so that you may rise from the clay refashioned for my struggles.