I still can see a picture of you, by heart, with an African river on the back. Right now I don’t have a single physical proof that you once existed in my life, except for a simple silver ring. Yes, I kept it as a souvenir. Don’t ask me why, since it’s been more than 5 years (2010) that I know you are not someone to love and adore. Probably, you keep my picture above the others for that same reason: as a souvenir.

For almost five years (2006 to 2010) I didn’t know who you really were and I loved you the same, with all my heart, asking myself what I would do if I had the chance to have a real lover and not a shadow of one. Now I am sure that I was looking for a real relationship and not a virtual one.

Lately, I’ve been fascinated by pictures of people that I hardly know, because when we start a new relationship we meet all the new people coming with it. I am so sure about portraying the personality of someone from a picture that I had to do the same with you. I should have done it a long time ago.

Even though I was glad to see that you are thin, I am not attracted by boyish looks. Your hands, large and artistic, were always a serious attractive. Thankfully, there are many more hands in this world. Your posture lacks a bit of determination and self-confidence, something I don’t like in a man.

More than your hands, your face is very revealing. Your soft cuddling spots are your neck and your hair. Probably, also your chest and back as they are natural extensions of the neck area.

I don’t see in your face the things that I fear and learned to hate. I will never understand if you hide them well or if they don’t exist at all. I am no longer interested in discovering the answers. If I got the details, I could see the naughty side of you in the traces of your mouth. All the main aspects I learned about you are only perceivable in your eyes. Limited by the picture itself and by the fog of your glasses, I’ll never know what a serious case you are. My inner guess is that you are a lot less than you pretend to be.

In contrast to your smile and a sparkle, slightly perceived in your eyes, I can see the bipolarity you talked about. (In case you propose, living with a bipolar it’s not my cup of tea.)

You are what you are. You are less than you pretend to be. You are more than you let us see. Whatever the case, you are not for me.