It was an unsuspicious day, when you were still liquid and I tried to grab you. You held my look, and I became a hostage of my own dreams. Something died, like an unknown soldier who perished on the battlefield and left no name, for he had none. We remember the fallen, without ever having known them. We identify ourselves with what they represent, not with who they really were. I look at you, and see myself through the peephole of your open heart.