She Tells Her Love While Half Asleep by Robert Graves
From another letter: Tell me about a random night that you have. Very well: I was watching Toy Story 3, and Andy was leaving all his toys behind, and he was playing with them for the last time. I watched this and cried — the ugly kind — in the middle of eating leftover pasta that was about a week old and I left in the fridge and promptly forgot about until that night. I was crying, and I was chewing, and my pasta was both salty and sweet, and I felt my chest about to burst. And then the credits rolled, and I wanted to go outside and have a smoke, and I had to struggle to open the door because of all the locks (and because I was still crying). Finally the door was open, and I was outside, and I had a smoke, and my hand was trembling. It just rained, and I saw a few cockroaches in the driveway, and I freaked out and ran after them and stomped them to death. And then I went inside, locked up, surfed the channels for something new to watch, got bored, went to my room, finished rereading a book about Sagmeister, went to sleep.
When I woke up my face was fresh with tears.
She Tells Her Love While Half Asleep
She tells her love while half asleep,
In the dark hours,
With half words whispered low:
As earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.