Frida Kahlo once wrote to Diego Rivera: “Nothing compares to your hands, nothing like the green-gold of your eyes. My body is filled with you for days and days. You are the mirror of the night. The violent flash of lightning. The dampness of the earth. The hollow of your armpits is my shelter. My fingers touch your blood. All my joy is to feel life spring from your flower-fountain that mine keeps to fill all the paths of my nerves which are yours.”
Today this exquisite expression of love might be paraphrased as:
Nothing compares to your hands, to be healed by their touch. My soul is forever imprinted with the burn of your gaze from the moment we met. You are the light that outshines all darkness. The warm and glowing rays of the sun. The romantic and mystical beams of the moon. Our orchestrated union is rejoiced in the heavens. All that I am, all that I was created to be, is made better by you. I am completed by your existence, made whole by your presence.