yambic pentameter

espero que lleguen más libros que probablemente no leeré. pero los espero igual. mientras escucho música de debussy y sueño con la próxima vez que voy a encontrarme con gente que quiero. volví a leer literatura, iniciar conversaciones.

soy el jardín de senderos que se bifurcan. la biblioteca es infinita y yo tan corta y feliz. 

vuelvo a los sonetos de shakespeare y encuentro: 

When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor’d youth,
Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress’d.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love’s best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter’d be.

mi traducción: mentime que me gusta