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I look deep into your eyes and try to get to know you. I touch your face with the tip of my index finger, measuring every inch of your nose, ears, mouth, and cheeks. I kiss your lips as if I could unravel you some more. As if unraveling you will make me find something of myself in you. Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. I think I kiss you trying to understand why you came here. Why you are here. Maybe the touch of my hands on your body will sense what's under your skin, the kinds of secrets you hide, the past and the present that are delineated between the lines of a conversation - because the unspoken makes as much or more sense than the spoken. I want to unveil a little of you, as if you could, in this movement, unveil a little of me. As if your touch could tell me where I came from, the kinds of secrets I hide, and what I carry here inside this chest: my past and my present, delineated between the lines that maybe you don't know (or just don't want to) decipher.