I talk to you with visible and palpable words,
words with weight, flavor, and smell, like things.
While I speak,
things imperceptibly shake loose from themselves, escaping toward other forms, other names.
They leave me these words: with them, I talk to you.
Words are bridges.
And they are traps, jails, wells.
I talk to you: you do not hear me.
I don't talk with you: I talk with a word.
That word is you.,
that carries you from yourself to yourself.
You, I, and fate created it.
(Octavio Paz, 1914 - 1908)
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