I still love Anna Akhmatova

Remember how I fell in love with Anna Akhmatova's poetry last semester?

Yeah. Still in love.

And I think (know) I always will be.

Kind of like I will always love Tolstoy and Robert Frost and maps of the world.

One of those loves that never dies.

Because it speaks to your soul in a way that nothing else has.

Of course translation does not do her verse justice. But it will have to do, I guess.

I rarely think of you now
Not captured by your fate, 
But our insignificant meeting's trace
Has not vanished from my soul. 

I purposely avoid your red house, 
That red house on its muddy river, 
But I know I bitterly disturb
Your sunlit heart at rest. 

Though you never bent to my lips, 
Imploring love, 
Never immortalized my longing 
In verse of gold--

I secretly conjure the future, 
When evening shines clear and blue, 
And foresee the inevitable meeting, 
A second meeting, with you. 

I just love her way with words.
And how she describes those "insignificant meetings" that make an imprint on our souls.
Those meetings with people--who come and go--
and we never quite know how they will influence us.
Or how we will influence them.
Love won, love lost.
Friends made, friends forgotten.
We say that we don't care; say it doesn't matter.
But doesn't it?

what kind of heart doesn't look back? 

Here's the original Russian for those lucky enough to know this beautiful language.

«О тебе вспоминаю я редко…» Анна Ахматова

О тебе вспоминаю я редко
И твоей не пленяюсь судьбой,
Но с души не стирается метка
Незначительной встречи с тобой.

Красный дом твой нарочно миную,
Красный дом твой над мутной рекой,
Но я знаю, что горько волную
Твой пронизанный солнцем покой.

Пусть не ты над моими устами
Наклонялся, моля о любви,
Пусть не ты золотыми стихами
Обессмертил томленья мои,—

Я над будущим тайно колдую,
Если вечер совсем голубой,
И предчувствую встречу вторую,
Неизбежную встречу с тобой.