Tonight I love you in a way
that you have not known in me:
I am neither worn down by travels nor wrapped up
in the desire for your presence.
I am mastering my love for you and turning it inwards
as a constituent element of myself.
This happens much more often than I admit to you,
but seldom when I’m writing to you.
Try to understand me:
I love you while paying attention to external things.
At Toulouse I simply loved you.
Tonight I love you on a spring evening.
I love you with the window open.
You are mine, and things are mine,
and my love alters the things around me
and the things around me alter my love.
– Jean-Paul Sartre