My heart was burned apart from my darling.
My soul was burned as bad for my gorgeous captain.

So badly did I singe in that fire
that anyone within earshot burned up like a sycamore.

I’m not the only one who smolders in this love.
Its embers have set the whole world to burning.

Searing in the fire of my darling’s absence
works like alchemy—you have to burn to change.

Good job, Goya’s heart, which, 
at the mere thought of seeing my darling’s face, has begun to burn!