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I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.   On nights like this, I held her in my arms. I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.   She loved me, sometimes I loved her. How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?   I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.    -Pablo Neruda